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POEMS 




THE II^J^ER LIF 




BY 



LIZZIE DOTEX 



*'Aud my soul from out that shadow 

Hath been lifted evermore." PoE. 

"The kingdom of Heaven is within you." 



FOURTEENTH EDITION. 



BOSTON: 
COLBY & ETCH, PUBLISHERS, 

9 Montgomery Place. 

I o -1 ^_ 



.II5/5- 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863 by 

ELIZABETH DOTEN, 

In the Clerk's OfiBoe of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 



605163 

FEB 17 1941 



KLECTEOTYFED AT THE 

;08T0N STEKEOTYPB FOUNDET, 

4 SPRING LANE. 



N 



\ 



^ 
^ 



CONTENTS 



Fagb 

A WORD TO THE WORLD (Prefatory) y 

PART I. 

THE PRAYER OF THE SORROWING 3 

THE SONG OF TRUTH, . . . q 

THE EMBARKATION, 9 

KEPLER'S VISION, j^ 

LOVE AND LATIN, jg 

THE SONG OF THE NORTH, 21 

THE BURIAL OF WEBSTER, 26 

THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA, .... 31 
THE MEETING OF SIGURD AND GERDA, .... 35 

PART II. 

THE SPIRIT-CHILD. By " Jennie." 41 

RECONCILIATION 48 

HOPE FOR THE SORROWING, 54 

COMPENSATION, 57 

THE EAGLE OF FREEDOM, 63 

(iii) 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



MISTRESS GLENARE. By "Marian." 



LITTLE JOHNNY. 



" BIRDIE'S " SPIRIT-SONG, 

MY SPIRIT-HOME. [A. W. Sprague.] 

I STILL LIVE. [A. W. Sprague.] 

LIFE. [Shakspeare.] 

LOVE. [Shakspeare.] 

FOR A' THAT. [BURNS.] . 

WORDS O' CHEER. [Burns.] 

RESURREXI. [Poe.] . 

THE PROPHECY OF VALA. [POE.] 

THE KINGDOM. [PoE.] . 

THE CRADLE OR COFFIN. [POE.] 

THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE. [PoE.] 

THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. A Lecture. 

FAREWELL TO EARTH. [PoE.] .... 



Page 

. 60 



92 
97 
99 
104 
109 
118 
124 
128 
134 
162 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. 



In presenting this volume to the public, I 
trust that I may be allowed, without incurring 
the charge of egotism, to say somewhat con- 
cerning my spiritual experience, and the man- 
ner in which these poems were originated. I 
am, in a measure, under the necessity of do- 
ing this, lest some over-anxious friend, or 
would-be critic, should undertake the work for 
me, and thereby place me, either miconscious- 
ly or intentionally, in a false position before 
the public. 

By the advice of those invisible iutelligenccs, 
wdiose presence and power T freely acknowl- 
edge, seconded by my own judgment, I have 
given to this work the title of '* Poems from 
a* C^) 



Vi A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

the Inner Life ; " for, aside from the external 
phenomena of Modern Spiritualism, — which, 
compared to the great principles underlying 
them, are but mere froth and foam on the 
ocean of Truth, — I have realized that in the 
mysterious depths of the Inner Life, all souls 
can hold communion with those invisible be- 
mgs, who are our companions both in Time and 
Eternity. My vision has been dim and indis- 
tinct, my hearing confused hy the jarring dis- 
cords of earthly existence, and my utterances 
of a wisdom, higher than my own, impeded by 
my selfish conceits and vain imaginings. Yet, 
notwithstanding all this, the solemn convictions 
of my spiritual surroundijigs, and the mutual 
ties of interest still existmg between souls, 
" whether in the body or out of the body," 
have been indelibly impressed upon me. From 
such experiences I have learned — in a sense 
hitherto unknown — that " the kingdom of 
Heaven is within me." ^ I know that many sin- 
cere and earnest souls will decide at once, i» 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. YU 

the integrity of their well-trained intellects, 
that this claim to an intercourse with the invisi- 
ble world is an extravagant assumption, and 
has no foundation in truth. To such I would 
say, I shall make no effort to persuade your 
reason and judgment. I only offer to you 
as a suggestion, that which has been realized 
by me in my spiritual experience, and has be- 
come to me an abiding truth, full of strength 
for the present, and hope for the future. Wheu 
your souls sincerely hunger after such a revela- 
tion, 3'ou will seek for it, and according to your 
need, you will bo filled therewith. Until then, 
you and I, regarding things from a different 
point of view, must inevitably understand them 
differently. There are various cups which Hu- 
manity must drink of, and " baptisms wdiich it 
must be baptized Avith," and this manifestation 
of Truth, of which I am but one of the hum])le 
representatives, has laid its controlling hand 
upon me ; for what purpose, in the mysterious 
results which lie concealed in the future, I can- 
not tell — I only know that it is so. 



Vlll A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

Looking back upon my experience, I cannot 
doubt that I — with many others — was des- 
tined to this phase of development, and de- 
signed for this peculiar work, before I knew 
conscious being. My brain was ftishioned, and^ 
my nervous system finely strung, so that I 
should inevitably catch the thrill of the innu- 
merable voices resounding through the universe, 
and translate their messages into human lan- 
guage, as coherently and clearly as my imper- 
fections would allow. The early influences of 
my childhood, the experiences of later years, 
and more than all, that unutterable yearning for 
Beauty and Harmony, which I felt dimly con- 
scious was somewhere in the universe, all tend- 
ed to drive me back from the world, which Voidd 
not and could not give me what I asked, to the 
revelations of my inner life, — to the "Heaven 
within me." It was only through the cultivation 
of my spiritual nature that " spiritual things were 
to be discerned," and the stern necessity of my 
life was the Teacher which finally educated me 
into the perception of Truth. 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. IX 

I turn back to the memories of my child- 
hood—to that long course of trying experien- 
ces through which I passed, guided by strange 
and invisible influences ; and that whole course 
of discipline has for me now a peculiar signifi- 
cance. Those who were near and dear to me, 
and who were most familiar with my habits of 
life, knew little of my intense spiritual experi- 
ence. I was too much afraid of being ridiculed 
and misunderstood to dare give any expression 
to the strange and indefinable emotions within 
me. Such ones, however, may call to mind the 
child who often, through the long wnnter even- 
ings, sat in profound silence by the fireside, with 
her head and face enveloped in her apron, to ex- 
clude, as fiir as possible, all external sight and 
sound. What I heard and saw then but dimly 
returns to me ; but even then the revelations 
from the "Heaven within" had commenced, and 
succeeding years have so strengthened and con- 
firmed my vision, that such scenes have become 
to me living truths and blessed realities. Tho 



X A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

** Heaven " that " lay about me in my infancy " 
sent its rich glow through my childhood, and 
sheds its mystic brightness upon the pathway 
of my riper years. 

Often, in the retirement of a small closet, I 
spent hours in total darkness, lying prostrate on 
the floor, beating the waves of the mysterious 
Infinite that rolled in a stormy flood over me, 
and with prayers and tears beseeching deliver- 
ance from my blindness and seeming unbelief. 
Then, when by my earnestness the spirit had 
become stronger than the flesh, I would gradu- 
ally fall into a deep trance, from which I w^ould 
arise strengtliened and consoled by the assur- 
ance — from whence I could not tell — that 
somewhere in the future I should find all the 
life, and light, and freedom that my soul de- 
sired. The only evidence or knowledge which 
those around me received of such visitations 
was occasionally a poem — some of them writ- 
ten so early in life, that the childish chirography 
rendered them almost illegible. Because of 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XI 



these early productions, it has been asserted 
that my claim to any individual spirit-influence 
was either a falsehood or delusion. I will only 
say in reply, that there is no need of entering 
upon any argument on the subject. I claim 
l)oth a general and particular inspiration. They 
do not, by any means, conflict; and what I do 
not receive from one, comes from the other. 
For the very reason that I have natural poetic 
tendencies, I attract influences of a kindred 
nature ; and when I desire it, or they Avill to do 
so, they cast their characteristic inspirations 
upon me, and I give them utterance according 
to my ability. It is often as difiicult to decide 
what is the action of one's own intellect and 
what is spirit-influence, as it is in our ordinary 
associations to determine what is original with 
ourselves and what w^e have received from 
circumstances or contact with the mind of 
others. ' Yet, nevertheless, there are cases Avhere 
the distinction is so evident that it is not to 
be doubted. Onlv one or two such well-attest- 



xii A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

ed instances is sufficient to establish the theory. 
I am not willing to ignore one faculty or power 
of my being for the sake of proving a favor- 
ite idea ; and, on the contrary, I cannot con- 
scientiously deny that, in the mysteries of my 
inner life, I have been acted upon decidedly 
and directly by disembodied intelligences, and 
this, sometimes, by an inspiration characteristic 
of the individual, or by a psychological influence 
similar to that whereby mind acts upon mind 
in the body. Under such influences I have 
not necessarily lost my individuality, or be- 
come wholly unconscious. I Avas, for the time 
being, like a harp in the hands of superior 
powers, and just in proportion as my entire 
nature was attuned to thrill responsive to their 
touch, did I give voice and expression to their 
unwritten music. They furnished the inspira- 
tion, but it was of necessity modified by the 
nature and character of the instrument upon 
which they played, for the most skilful musi- 
cian cannot change the tone of a harp to the 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. Xlll 

sound of a trumpet, though he may give a 
characteristic expression of himself through 
either. 

The presence and influence of these powers 
is to me no new or recent occurrence, although 
I may not have understood them in the same 
light as I do at present. They have formed a 
part of all my past life, and I can trace the 
evidence of spiritual assistance running like a 
golden thread through all my intellectual 
efibrts. As 1 do not desire to practise any 
deception upon the public, but on the contrary 
only wish to declare the simple truth, I have 
published in this volume quite a number of 
poems, written several years previous to my 
appearance before the public as a medium 
or a speaker. Although these were mostly 
WTought out of my brain b}' the slow process 
of thought, yet for some of these, even, I can 
claim as direct and special an inspiration as for 
those delivered upon the platform. The first 
poem in this present work, — "The Prayer of the 
b 



Xiv A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

Sorrowing," — and that which immediately suc- 
ceeds it, — "The Song of Truth," — containing 
in itself an answer to the Prayer, were given 
to me under peculiar circumstances. The first 
was the language of my own soul, intensified 
by an occasion of great mental anguish. The 
second, following directly upon it, Avas an illu- 
mination of my entire being, when I seemed to 
have wept away the scales from my eyes, and 
"by the deep conflict of ni}^ soul in prayer," 
to have broken the fetters of my mortality, and 
stepped forth into that freedom whereby I 
stood face to face with the ministering spirits, 
and heard that "Song of Truth" sounding 
through the universe. I have only known but 
few such visitations in my lifetime, but when 
they have come, I have felt that I have taken 
a free, deep breath of celestial air, and caught a 
glimpse of the Realities of Things. As an im- 
mediate consequence, my spirit has become 
braver and stronger, and long after my in- 
ward vision was closed, the cheering light of 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XV 

that blessed revelation has lingered in my 
heart. 

Another poem, w^hich bore evidence to me 
of an inspiration acting upon me, and external 
to myself, was the " Song of the North," relat- 
ino- to the fate of Sir John Franklin and his 
men. I w^as desired to write an illustration 
for a plate, about to appear in the " Lily of the 
Valley," an Annual published by J. M. Usher, 
of Cornhill, Boston. I endeavored to do so, 
but da}^ after day passed by and my labor was 
in vain, for not one acceptable idea would sug- 
gest itself. The publisher sent for the article, 
but it was not in being. One day, however, I 
was seized with an indefinable uneasiness. I 
wandered up and down through the house and 
garden, till finally the idea of wdiat I w\as to 
do became clearly defined ; then, with my 
paper and pencil, I hastened to a quiet corner 
in the attic, where nearly all my poems had 
been written, and there I w^rote the Song of 
the North — so rapidly, that it w-as scarce legi- 



XVi A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

ble, and I was obliged to copy it at once, lest 
I should lose the connection. The next day it 
seemed as foreign and strange to me as it would 
to any one who had never seen it. At the time 
this was w^ritten (in April, 1853) strong hopes 
were entertained of the discovery of Franklin 
and his men, together with their safe return ; 
therefore I hesitated to make public that which 
seemed a decided affirmation to the contrary. 
Nevertheless, so strong were my convictions 
as to the truth of the poem, that I allowed it 
to be published. Later revelations concerning 
the fate of that brave adventurer and his com- 
panions gave to the poem somewhat of the 
character of a prophecy. 

How far I have ever written, independent 
V of these higher influences, I cannot say ; I only 
know that all the poems under my own name 
have come from the deep places of my " Inner 
Life ; " and in that self-same sacred retreat — 
which I have entered either by the intense con- 
centration of all my intellectual powers, or a 



A WOftD TO THE WORLD. XVll 

(lassive surrender to the inspirations that moved 
upon me — I have held conscious communion 
with disembodied spirits. At such times it has 
been said I was " entranced ; " and although that 
term does not exactly express my idea, perhaps 
it is the best which can yet be found in our 
lanofuafife. The avenues of external sense, if 
not entirely closed, w^ere at least disused, in 
order that the spiritual perceptions might be 
quickened to the required degree, and also that 
the world of causes, of which earth and its ex- 
periences are but the passing eifects, might be 
disclosed to my vision. Certain it is that a 
physical change took place, affecting both my 
breathing and circulation, and my clairvoyant 
powders were so strengthened that I could dimly 
perceive external objects from the frontal por- 
tion of my brain, even with my eyes closed and 
bandaged; also, in that state, any excess of light 
was far more painful than under ordinary condi- 
tions. If the communications given through my 
instrumentality have been weak, erroneous, and 



x/ 



XVlll A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

imperfect, it is no ftiult of my spirit-teachers, but 
arises rather from my own inability to understand 
or clearly express what was communicated to me. 
In relation to the poems given under direct 
spirit-influence I would say, that there has been 
a mistake existing in many minds concerning 
them, which I take the present opportunity, as 
fiir as possible, to correct. They were not like 
lightning flashes, coming unheralded, and vau- 
ishinof without leavino: a trace behind. Several 
days before they were given, I would receive 
intimations of them. Oftentimes, and particu- 
larly under the influence of Poe, I would awake 
in tlie night from a deep slumber, and detached 
fragments of those poems would be floating 
through my mind, though in a few moments 
after they would vanish like a dream. I have 
sometimes awakened myself by repeating them 
aloud. I have been informed, also, by these in- 
fluences, that all their poems are as complete 
and finished in spirit-life as they are in this, 
and the only reason why they cannot be repeat- 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XIX 

ed again and again is because of the difficulty 
of bringing a human organism always into 
the same state of exaltation — a state in which 
mediums readily receive inspiration, and render 
the poems with the least interference of their 
own intellect. 

Among these spiritual poems will be found 
two purporting to come from Shakspeare. This 
influence seemed to overwhelm and crush me. 
I Avas afraid, and shrank from it. Only those 
two poems were given, and then the attempt 
was not repeated. I do not think that the 
poems in themselves come up to the produc- 
tions of his master mind. They are only inti- 
mations of what might have been, if he had had 
a stronger and more effectual instnmient upon 
which to pour his inspirations. I have no 
doubt that time will yet furnish one upon 
whom his mantle will fall ; but I can only say 
that his power was mightier than I could bear. 
As I have regarded him spiritually, he seems to 
be a majestic intellect, but one that overawes 



XX A WORD TO THE WORLD 

rather thau attracts me ; and my conclusion has 
been, that while in the flesh, although he was 
of himself a mighty mincl, yet still he spake 
wiser than he knew, being moved upon by those 
superior powers who choose men for their mouth- 
pieces, and oblige them to speak startling words 
into the dull ear of the times. As all Nature is 
a manifestation of Deity, so all Humanity is a 
manifestation of mind, — diifering, however, in 
degrees of development, — and one body serves 
as an instrument to effect the purposes of many 
minds. This is illustrated in the pursuits and 
employments of ordinary life, and has a far 
deeper significance when taken in connection 
w^ith the invisible w^orld. 

The influence of Burns was pleasant, easy, and 
exhilarating, and left me in a cheerful mood. 
As a spirit, he seemed to be genial and kindly, 
with a clear perception and earnest love of sim- 
ple truth, and at the same time a good-natured 
contempt for all shams, mere forms, and sol- 
emn mockeries. This was the way in which 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XXI 

he impressed me, and I felt much more bene- 
fited than bm'dened hy his presence. 

The first poem delivered by Poe, came to me 
fiir more unexpectedly than any other. By re- 
ferring to the introductory remarks, copied from 
the " Springfield Republican," it will be seen 
that the supposition is presented, that I, or 
" the one who WTote the poem," must have been 
very familiar with the writings of Poe. As no 
one wrote the poem for me, consequently I am 
the only one who can answer to the supposition ; 
and I can say, most conscientiously, that pre- 
vious to that time I had never read, to my 
knowledge, any of his poems, save " The Raven," 
and I had not seen that for several years. In- 
deed, I may well say in this connection, that 
I have read, comparatively speaking, very 
little poetry in the course of my life, and 
have never made the style of any author a 
study. The influence of Poe was neither pleas- 
ant nor easy. I can only describe it as a 
species of mental intoxication. I was tortured 



XXU A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

with a feeling of great restlessness and irrita- 
bility, and strange, incongruous images crowd- 
ed my brain. Some were bewildering and 
dazzling as the sun, others dark and rejjul- 
sive. Under his influence, particularly, I 
suffered the greatest exhaustion of vital en- 
ergy, so much so, that after giving one of 
his poems, I was usually quite ill for sev- 
eral days. 

But from his first poem to the last, — "The 
Farew^ell to Earth," — was a marked, and rapid 
change. It would seem as though, in that 
higher life, where the opportunities for spir- 
itual development far transcend those of 
earth, that by his quick and active percep- 
tions he had seized upon the Divine Idea 
which was endeavoring to find expression 
through his life, both in Time and Eternity ; 
and that from the moment this became 
apparent, with a volcanic energy, with the 
battle-strokes of a true hero, he had over- 
thrown every obstacle, and hewn a way through 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XXIU 

every barrier that irapeded the free out- 
growth and manifestation of his diviner self. 
His "Farewell" is not a mere poem of the 
imagination. It is a record of facts. I can 
clearly perceive, as his spirit has been re- 
vealed to me, that there was a deep sig- 
nificance in his words, when he said, — 

" I will sunder, and forever, 
Every tie of Jiuman passion that can bind my soul to Earth— ^ 
Every slavish tie that binds me to the things of little worth." 

As he last appeared to me, he was full 
of majesty and strength, self-poised and 
calm, and it w^ould seem by the expression 
of his countenance, radiant w^ith victory, that 
the reward promised to '' him that over- 
cometh," had been made his sure possession. 
Around his brow, as a spiritual emblem, 
was an olive-wreath, whose leaves glowed 
like fire. He stood upon the side of a 
mountain, which was white and glittering like 
crystal, and the full tide of inspiration to 



XXir A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

which he gave utterance could not be com- 
prehended in human speech. That last "Fare- 
well," as it found expression through my 
weak lips, was but the faintest possible echo 
of that most musical and majestic lyric which 
thrilled the harp-strings of my being. In 
order to be ftdly realized and understood, 
the soul mast be transported to that sphere 
of spiritual perce^jtionSy where there is no ecu- 
dihle " speech nor language," and where the 
" voice is not heard.''' 

Obedient to the call of the Angels, he 
has "gone up higher" in the w^ays of Eter- 
nal Progress ; and though, because of this 
change, he may no longer manifest himself 
as he tvas, jQi doubtless as he is, he will 
yet be felt as a Presence and a Power in the 
"Heaven" of many a human heart. Upon 
earth he was a meteor lio^ht, flashinc: with 
a startling brilliancy across the intellectual 
firmament ; but now he is a star of ever- 
increasing magnitude, which has at length 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XXV 

gravitated to its own place among the ce- 
lestial spheres. 

In saying thus much, I cannot so play 
the coward to my spiritual convictions as to 
offer the slightest apology for any ideas I 
may have advanced contrary to popular prej- 
udices or time-honored opinions. O, thought- 
ful reader ! if I have offended thee, say 
simply that these are my convictions and 
not yours, and do not fear for the result ; 
for in whatsoever I purpose or perform, 
I " can do nothing against the Truth — only 
for it." I do not indulge in the conceit 
that this little work has any important mis- 
sion to perform, or that it will cause any 
commotion in the literary world. But I 
have felt, as one by one these poems have 
been wrought out — by general or special 
inspiration — from my "Inner Life," that in 
this matter I had a w^ork, simple though 
it might be, to do, and my soul was sorely 
"straitened till it was accomplished." 
c 



XXVI A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

As some of these poems, appearing at various 
times, have been severely criticized in the 
past, so I would say now, that if any there 
should be, w^ho, through biogtry, or preju- 
dice, or a desire to display their superior 
wisdom, should choose to criticize them in 
their present form — to such I shall make 
no answer. But to all those earnest and 
inquiring souls, who feel that in such ex- 
periences as I have described, or in the re- 
sources from which my soul has drawn its 
supply, there is aught that is attractive or 
desirable to them, I would say, " God speed 
you in your search for Truth ! " At the 
same time let me assure you, that in the 
depths of your own Inner Life there is a 
fountain of inspiration and wisdom, which, 
if sought aright, will yield you more abun- 
dant satisfiiction than any simple cup of the 
living water which I, or any other indi- 
vidual, can place to your lips. There are 
invisible teachers around you, the hem of 



A WORD TO THE WORLD. XXVU 

whose garments I am unworthy to touch. 
" The words that they speak unto you — 
they are Spirit and they are Life." " In 
order to hiow more you must he more." 
Faith strikes its roots deep in the spirit, 
and often Intuition is a safer guide than 
.Reason. When a man, by constant practice, 
has so quickened his spiritual perceptions 
that he can receive conscious impressions 
from his invisible attendants, he will never 
be without counsellors. 

" Let Faith be given 
To the still tones that oft our being waken — 
They are of Heaven." 

The Spirit-World is not so distant as it 
seems, and the veil of Materiality which 
hides it from our view, by hopeful and un- 
tiring aspiration can be rent in twain. We 
only need listen earnestly and attentively, 
and w^e shall soon learn to keep step in 
the grand march of Life to the music of 



^XViii A WORD TO THE WORLD. 

the upper spheres. As a popular author 
has beautifully said, " Silence is vocal, if 
we listen well." With a sublime accord, the 
great anthem of the Infinite " rolls and re- 
sounds" through the Universe, and whosoever 
will, can listen to that harmony, till all 
special and particular discords shall die out 
from the *' Inner Life," and the Heaven of 
the celestial intelligences shall blend with the 
" Heaven Avithin," in perfect unison ! 



POEMS 



THE INNEE LIFE, 



PART I 



(1) 



POEMS 
FROM THE INNER LIFE 



THE PRAYER OF THE SORROWING. 

«' And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthen- 
ing hun." 

God ! hear my prayer ! 
Thou who hast poured the essence of thy life 

Into this urn, this feeble urn of clay ; 
Thou who amid the tempest's gloom and strife 

Art the lone star that guides me on my way; 
When my crushed heart, by constant striving torn, 

Flies shuddering from its own impurity. 
And my faint spirit, by its sorrows worn. 
Turns with a cry of anguish unto thee — 
Hear me, O God! my God! 
(3) 



4 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

O, this strange mingling in of Life and Death, 

Of Soul and Substance! Let me comprehend 
The hidden secret of life's fleeting breath, 

My being's destiny, its aim and end. 
Show me the impetus that urged me forth, 

Upon my lone and burning pathway driven ; 
The secret force that binds me down to earth, 

While my sad spirit yearns for home and heaven — 
Hear me, O God ! my God ! 

The ruby life-drops from my heart are wrung, 

By the deep conflict of my soul in prayer ; 
The words lie burning on my feeble tongue ; 

Aid me, O Father! let me not despair. 
Save, Lord ! I perish ! Save me, ere I die ! 

My rebel spirit mocks at thy control — 
The raging billows rise to drown my cry; 

The floods of anguish overwhelm my soul — 
Hear me, O God ! my God ! 

Peace! peace! O, wilful, wayward heart, be still! 

For, lo ! the messenger of God is near ; 
Bow down submissive to the Father's will, 

Li "perfect love" that "casteth out all fear." 



THE PRAYER OF THE SORROWING. 

O, pitying Spirit from the home above ! 

No longer shall my chastened heart rebel ; 
Fold me, O fold me in thine arms of love ! 

I know my Father "doeth all things well;" 
I will not doubt his changeless love again. 

Amen i iVly iieart repeats, Amen ! 
1* 



POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE SONG 01^ THUTH. 

Feom the unseen throne of the Great Unknown, 

From the Soul of All, I came ; 
Not with the rock of the earthquake's shock, 

And not with the Avasting flame. 
But silent and deep is my onward sweep, 

Through the depths of the boundless sky ; 
I stand sublime, through the lapse of time. 

And where God is, there am I. 

In the early years, when the youthful spheres, 
From the depths of Chaos sprung, 

When the heavens grew bright with the new-born 
light, 
And the stars in chorus sung — 

To that holy sound, through the space profound, 
'Mid their glittering ranks I trod; 



THE SONG OF TRUTH. 7 

For I am a part of the Central Heart, 
Co-equal and one with God. 

The world is my child. Though wilful and wild, 

Yet I know that she loves me still. 
For she thinks I fled with her holy dead, 

Because of her stubborn will ; 
And she weeps at night, when the angels light 

Their watch-fires over the sky, 
Like a maid o'er the grave of her loved and brave ; 

But the Truth can never die. 

-One by one, like sparks from the sun, 

I have counted the souls that came 
From the hand Divine ; — all, all are mine, 

And I call them by my name. 
One by one, like sparks to the sun, 

I shall see them all return ; 
Though tempest-tost, yet they are not lost, 

And not one shall cease to burn. 

I only speak to the lowly and meek. 
To the simple and child-like heart, 



8 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

But I leave the 2:)roud to their gUttering shroud, 
And the tricks of their cunning art. 

Like a white-winged dove from the home of love, 
Through the airy space untrod, 

I come at the cry which is heard on high, — 
«Hear me, O God! my God!" 



THE EMBARKATION. 



THE EMBARKATION. 



" So they left that g-oodly and pleasant city, which had been their 
resting-place near twelve years. But they knew they were pilgrims, 
and looked not much to those things ; but lifted their eyes to heaven, 
their dearest country, and quieted their spirits." — E. Winslow. 



The band of Pilgrim exiles in tearful silence stood, 

While thus outspake, in parting, John Robinson 
the good: 

"Fare thee well, my brave Miles Standish! thou 
hast a trusty sword. 

But not with carnal weapons shalt thou glorify 
the Lord. 

Fare thee well, good Elder Brewster! thou art a 
man of prayer ; 

Commend the flock I give thee to the holy Shep- 
herd's care. 

And thou, beloved Carver, what shall I say to 
thee? 



10 POExMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

I have need, in this my sorrow, that thou shoulclst 

comfort me. 
In the furnace of affliction must all be sharply 

tried ; 
But nought prevails against us, if the Lord be on 

our side. 
Farewell, farewell, ray people ! — go, and stay not 

the hand. 
But precious seed of Freedom sow ye broadcast 

through the land. 
Ye may scatter it in sorrow, and water it with 

tears, 
But rejoice for those who gather the fruit in after 

years ; 
Ay! rejoice that ye may leave them an altar unto 

God, 
On the holy soil of Freedom, where no tyrant's foot 

hath trod. 
All honor to our sovereign, his majesty King James, 
But the King of kings above us the highest homage 

claims." 



THE EMBARKATION. 11 

Upon the deck together they knelt them down 
and prayed, 

The husband and the father, the matron and the 
maid ; 

The broad blue heavens above them, bright with 
the summer's glow. 

And the wide, wide waste of waters, with its treach- 
erous waves below ; 

Around, the loved and cherished, whom they should 
see no more. 

And the dark, uncertain future stretching dimly on 
before. 

O, well might Edward Winslow look sadly on his 
bride ! 

O, well might fair Rose Standish press to her chief- 
tain's side! 

For with crucified affections they bowed the knee in 
prayer, 

And besought that God would aid them to suffer 
and to bear; 

To bear the cross of sorrow — a broader shield of 
love 

Than the Royal Cross of England, that proudly 
waved above. 



12 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

The balmy winds of summer swept o'er the glit- 
tering seas J 

It brought the sign of j^arting — the white sails met 
the breeze ; 

One farewell gush of sorrow, one prayerful blessing 
more, 

And the bark that bore the exiles glided slowly 
from the shore. 

" Thus they left that goodly city," o'er stormy seas 
to roam ; 

" But they knew that they were pilgrims," and this 
world was not their home. 

There is a God in heaven, whose purpose none may 

tell; 
There is a God in heaven, who doeth all things 

well: 
And thus an infant nation was cradled on the 

deep, 
While hosts of holy angels were set to guard its 

sleep ; 
No seer, no priest, or proj^het, read its horoscope at 

birth, 
No bard in solemn saga sung its destiny to earthy 



THE EMBARKATION. 13 

But slowly, — slowly, — slowly as the acorn from 
the sod, 

It grew in strength and grandeur, and spread its 
arms abroad ; 

The eyes of distant nations turned towards that 
goodly tree, 

And they saw how fair and pleasant were the fruits 
of Liberty ! 

Like earth's convulsive motion before the earth- 
quake's shock, 

Like the foaming of the ocean around old Plymouth 
Rock, 

So the deathless love of Freedom — the majesty 
of Right — 

In all kindred, and all nations, is rising in its might ; 

And words of solemn warning come from the hon- 
ored dead — 

" Woe, woe to the oppressor if righteous blood be 
shed ! 

Rush not blindly on the future ! heed the lessons 
of the past ! 

For the feeble and the faithful are the conquerors at 
last." 

2 



14 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



KEPLER'S VISION. 

" How grand the spectacle of a mind thus restless — thirsting 
with unquenchable appetite after beauty and harmony ! Never waa 
there a finer example of a spirit too vast to be satiated with the few 
truths around it, or one that more emphatically foreboded a neces- 
Bary immortality." — Pro/. E. P. Xichol. 

TJpox the clear, bright, northern sky, 

Aurora's rambow arches gleamed, 
While, from their radiant source on high, 

The countless host of evening beamed ; 
Each moving in its path of light — 

Those paths by Science then untrod — 
The silent guardians of the night. 

The watchers by the throne of God. 

Far up above the gloomy wood, — 

The wavy, murmuring wood of pine, — 

Upon the mountain side, there stood 
A worshipper at Nature's shrine. 



15 



His spirit, like a breathing lyre, 
At each celestial touch awoke, 

And burning with a sacred fire, 
His voice the solemn silence broke. 

" O, glittering host ! O, golden line ! 

I would I had an angel's ken, 
Your deepest secrets to divine. 

And read your mysteries to men. 
The glorious truth is in my soul, 

The solemn witness in my heart — 
Although ye move as one great whole. 

Each bears his own appointed part." 



He slept. No! in a blissful trance 

The feebler powers of Nature lay, 
While upward, o'er the vast expanse, 

His eager spirit swept away, — 
Away into those fields of light. 

By human footsteps unexplored ; 
Order and beauty met his sight — 

He saw, he wondered, and adored ! 



16 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

And o'er the vast area of space, 

And through the height and depth jorofound, 
Each starless void and shining place 

Was filled with harmony of sound. 
Now, swelling like the voice of seas. 

With the full, rushing tide of years, 
Then, sighing like an evening breeze, 

It died among the distant spheres. 

Kich goblets filled with " Samian wine," 

Or " Life's elixir, sparkling high," 
Could not impart such joy divine 

As that full chorus of the sky. 
He might have heard the Orphean lute. 

Or caught the sound of Memnon's lyre, 
And yet his lips could still be mute, 

Nor feel one spark of kindred fire. 

But now, o'er ravished soul and sense, 
Such floods of living music broke, 

That, filled with rapture too intense. 
His disenchanted spirit woke. 

Awoke! but not to lose the sound. 
The echo of that holy song; 



Kepler's vision. 17 

He breathed it to the world around, 
And others bore the strain along. 

O, unto few the power is given 

To pass beyond the bounds of Time, 
And lift the radiant veil of Heaven, 

To view her mysteries sublime. 
Yet Thou, in whose majestic light 

The Source of Knowledge lies concealed, 
Prepare us to receive aright 

The truths that yet shall be revealed. 
2* 



18 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



LOVE AND LATIN. 

Amo — amare — amavi — amatum.* 

Dear girls, never marry for knowledge, 

(Though that should of course form a part,) 
For often the head, in a college. 

Gets wise at the cost of the heart. 
Let me tell you a foct that is real — 

I once had a beau in my youth. 
My brightest and best ''heaic ideaV^ 

Of manliness, goodness, and truth. 

O, he talked of the Greeks and the Romans, 
Of Normans, and Saxons, and Celts, 

And he quoted from Virgil, and Homer, 
And Plato, and somebody else. 

And he told me his deathless affection. 
By means of a thousand strange herbs, 

* Principal parts of tlie Latin verb amo — I love. 



LOVE AND LATIN. 19 

With numberless words in connection, 
Derived from the roots of Greek verbs. 

One night, as a sly innuendo, 

When Nature was mantled in snow, 
He wrote in the frost on the window, 

A sweet word in Latin — " amo." 
O, it needed no Avords for expression. 

For that I had long understood; 
But there was his written confession — 

Present tense and indicative mood. 

But O, how man's passion will vary! 

For scarcely a year had passed by. 
When he changed the " amo " to " amare," 

But instead of an "e" was a "y." 
Yes, a Mary had certainly taken 

The heart once so fondly my own, 
And I, the rejected, forsaken. 

Was left to reflection alone. 

Since then I've a horror of Latin, 
And students uncommonly smart; 



20 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

True love, one should always put that in, 
To balance the head by the heart. 

To be a fine scholar and linguist 
Is much to one's credit, I know, 

But " I loVe " should be said in plain English, 
And not with a Latin " amo." 



THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 21 



THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 

" In March, of 1854, says the Cleveland Herald, several months 
before the arrival of Dr. Rae, with his news of the probable death 
of the brave Sir John P^'rauklin and his faithful comrades, we copied 
from the Lily of the Valley for 1854, a beautiful poem by Miss Lizzie 
Doten, in reference to these adventurers. The verses are touching 
and solemn as the sound of a passing- bell, and appear almost pro- 
phetic of the news that afterwards came. ' The Song of the North ' 
again becomes deeply interesting as connected with the thrilling ac- 
count brought home by the Fox — the last vessel sent in search of the 
lost adventurers to the icy North, and the last that will now ever be 
sent on such an expedition." — Buffalo Daily Republic. 

SONG OF THE NORTH. 

"Away, away!" cried the stout Sir John, 

" While the blossoms are on the trees, 
For the summer is short, and the times speeds on 

As we sail for tlie northern seas. 
Ho! gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James! 

We will startle the world, I trow. 
When we find a way through the Northern seas 

That never was found till now! 



22 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

A good stout ship is the ' Erebus/ 

As ever unfurled a sail, 
And the 'Terror' will match with as brave a one 

As ever outrode a gale." 

So they bade farewell to their pleasant homes, 

To the hills and the valleys green, 
With three hearty cheers for their native isle, 

And three for the English Queen. 
They sped them away, beyond cape and bay, 

Where the day and the night are one — 
Where the hissing light in the heavens grew bright, 

And flamed like a midnight sun. 
There was nought below, save the fields of snow. 

That stretched to the icy pole; 
And the Esquimaux, in his strange canoe, 

Was the only living soul! 

Along the coast, like a giant host, 

The glittering icebergs frowned. 
Or they met on the main, like a battle plain. 

And crashed with a fearful sound ! 
The seal and the bear, with a curious stare, 

Looked down from the frozen heights. 



THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 23 

And the stars in the skies, with their great, wild eyes, 
Peered out from the Northern Lights. 

The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James, 
And even the stout Sir John, 

Felt a doubt, like a chill, through their warm 
hearts thrill, 
As they urged the good ships on. 

They sped them away, beyond cape and bay. 

Where even the tear-drops freeze, 
But no way was found, by a strait or sound. 

To sail through the Northern seas; 
They sped them away, beyond cape and bay. 

And they sought, but they sought in vain. 
For no way was found, through the ice around. 

To return to their homes again. 
Then the wild waves rose, and the waters froze. 

Till they closed like a prison wall; 
And the icebergs stood in the sullen flood, 

Like their jailers, grim and tall. 
O God! O God!— it was hard to die 

In that prison house of ice ! 
For what was fame, or a mighty name, 

When life was the fearful price? 



24 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James, 

And even the stout Sir John, 
Had a secret dread, and their hopes all fled, 

As the weeks and the months passed on. 
Then the Ice King came, with his eyes of flame. 

And looked on that fated crew; 
His chilling breath was as cold as death. 

And it pierced their warm hearts through! 
A heavy sleep, that was dark and deep, 

Came over their weary eyes, 
And they dreamed strange dreams of the hills and 
streams. 

And the blue of their native skies. 

The Christmas chimes, of the good old times. 

Were heard in each dying ear, 
And the dancing feet, and the voices sweet 

Of their wives and their children dear! 
But it faded away — away — away ! 

Like a sound on a distant shore, 
And deeper and deeper grew the sleep. 

Till they slept to wake no more. 

O, the sailor's wife, and the sailor's child, 
They will weep, and watch, and pray; 



THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 25 

And the Lady Jane, she will hope in vain, 

As the long years pass away! 
The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James, 

And the good Sir John have found 
An open way, to a quiet bay, 

And a port where we all are bound! 
Let the waters roar on the ice-bound shore, 

That circles the frozen pole; 
But there is no sleep, and no grave so deep, 

That can hold a human soul. 
3 



26 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE BURIAL OF WEBSTER. 

Low and solemn be the requiem above the nation's 
dead ; 

Let fervent prayers be uttered, and farewell bless- 
ings said ! 

Close by the sheltering homestead, beneath the 
household tree, 

Where oft his footsteps lingered, here let the part- 
ing be ! 

Draw near in solemn silence, with slow and meas- 
ured tread ; 

Come with the brow uncovered, and gaze upon the 
dead! 

How like a fallen hero, in silent rest he lies! 

With the seal of Death upon liim, and its dimness 
in his eyes! 

Speak! but there comes no answer. That voice 
of power is still * 



THE BURIAL OF WEBSTER. 27 

Which woke the shimbering Senate as with a 

giant's will ! — 
That voice, which rang so proudly back from the 

echoing walls, 
In court and civic council, and legislative halls ; 
Which summoned back those spirits, who long were 

mute and still, — 
The Pilgrim sires of Plymouth — the dead of 

Bunker Hill,— 
And in their silent presence gave to the past a 

tongue 
Like that which roused the nations when Freedom's 

war-cry rung. 
But now, the roar of cannon, the thunder of the 

deep. 
The battle-shock of earthquakes, cannot wake him 

from his sleep! 
The foot that trod so proudly upon the earth's green 

sod. 
The manly form, created in the image of its God, 
The brow, where mental greatness had set her 

noblest seal, 
The lip, whence thoughts were uttered like shafts 
« of poHshed steel, — 



28 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

All, all of these shall moulder back to their parent 

earth, 
Back to the silent bosom from whence they sprang 

to birth! 
The man^ — the living Webster^ — passed with a 

fleeting breath ! 
Alas, for human greatness! — the end thereof is 

death ! 
O ! what is earthly glory ? Ask Csesar, when he 

fell 
At the base of Pompey's statue, slain by those he 

loved too well ; 
Ask the Carthaginian hero, who kept his fearful 

vow; 
Ask Napoleon in his exile ; ask the dead before 

ye now; — 
And one answer, and one only, in the light of truth 

is given: 
"Man's highest earthly glory is to do the will of 

Heaven ; 
To rise and battle bravely, with dauntless moral 

might, 
In the holy cause of Freedom, and the triumph of 

the Right!" 



THE BURIAL OF WEBSTER. 29 

For by this simple standard shall all at last be 

tried, 
And not by earthly glory, or works of human pride. 

O Webster! thou wast mighty among thy fellow- 
men; 
And he Avho seeks to judge thee must be what 

thou hast been; — 
Must feel thine aspirations for higher aims in 

life, 
And know the stern temptations that urged thee 

in the strife; 
Must let his heart flow largely from out its narrow 

span, 
And meet thee freely, fairly, as man should meet 

with man. 
"What was lost, and what resisted, is known to 

One alone: 
Then let him who stands here guiltless "be first 

to cast a stone " ! 

Farewell! We give, with mourning, back to thy 

mother Earth 
The robes thy soul rejected at its celestial birth! 



30 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

A mightier one and stronger may stand where thou 
wast tried, 

Yet he shall be the wiser that thou hast lived and 
died; 

Thy greatness be his glory, thine errors let him 
shun, 

And let him finish nobly what thou hast left un- 
done. 

Farewell ! The granite mountains, the hill-side, and 

the sea. 
Thy harvest-fields and orchards, will all lament for 

thee ! 
Farewell ! A mighty nation awards thee deathless 

fame, 
And future generations shall honor Webster's 

name! 



THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 31 



THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 



" He is a strong, proud man, snch as a woman might, with pride, 
call her partner — 'if only — O! if he would but understand her na- 
ture, and allow it to be worth something.' " — See Miss Bremer^ $ 
*^ Brothers and Sister s.^^ 



She stood beneath the moonlight pale, 

With calm, uplifted eye, 
While all her being, weak and frail, 

Thrilled with her purpose high; 
For she, the long affianced bride, 

Must seal the fount of tears. 
And break, Avith woman's lofty pride, 

The plighted faith of years. 

Ay ! she had loved as in a dream, 
And woke, at length, to find 

How coldly on her spirit gleamed 
The dazzling light of mind. 

For little was the true, deep love 



32 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Of that pure spirit known 
To him, the cold, the selfish one, 
Who claimed her as his own. 

And what to him were all her dreams 

Of purer, holier life ? 
Such idle fancies ill became 

A meek, submissive wife. 
And what were all her yearnings high 

For God and "Fatherland" 
But vain chimeras, lofty flights. 

While Sigurd held her hand ? 

And then uprose the bitter thought, 

" Why bow to his control ? 
Why sacrifice, before his pride. 

The freedom of my soul ? 
Better to break the golden chain, 

And live and love apart. 
Than feel the galling, grinding links 

Wearing upon my heart." 

He came, — and, with a soft, low voice. 
In the pale gleaming light. 



THE PARTING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 33 

She laid her gentle hand in his — 

" Sigurd, we part to-night. 
Long have these bitter words been kept 

Within this heart of mine, 
And often have I lonely wept, — 

I never can be thine." 

Proudly, with folded arms he stood, 

And cold, sarcastic smile — 
" Ha ! this is but a wayward mood, 

An artful woman's wile. 
But this I know : so long — so long 

I've held thee to thy vow. 
That I have made the bond too strong 

For thee to break it now." 

"You know me not; — my lofty pride 

Was hidden from your eyes ; 
But you have crushed it down so low 

It gives me strength to rise. 
O ! all my bitter, burning thoughts 

I may not, dare not tell ! 
Sigurd, my loved — forever loved ! 

Farewell ! once more, farewell ! " 



34 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

One moment, and those loving arms 

Were gently round him thrown ; 
One moment, and those quivering lips 

Pressed lightly to his own ; 
And then he stood alone ! alo7ie ! 

With eyes too proud for tears; 
Yet o'er his stern, cold heart was thrown 

The burning blight of years. 

O man ! so God-like in thy strength. 

Preeminent in mind. 
Seek not with these high gifts alone, 

A woman's heart to bind. 
For, timid as a shrinking fawn, 

Yet faithful as a dove. 
She clings through life and death to thee, 

Won by thine earnest lov&. 



THE MEETING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 35 



THE MEETING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 



" And beautiful now stood they there, man and woman ; no lonjjer 
pale; eye to eye, hand to hand, as equals, — as partners in the light 
of heaven," — See Miss Bremer''s ^^ Brothers and Sisters." 



O, EARLY love ! O, early love ! 

Why does this memory haunt me yet ? 
Peace ! I invoke thee from above, — 

I cannot, though I would, forget. 
How I have sought, with prayers and tears, 

To quench this wasting passion-flame ! 
But after long, long, weary years. 

It burns within my heart the same. " 

She wept — poor, sorrowing Gerda wept, 
In the dark pine-wood wandering lone, 

"While cold the night-winds past her swept, 
And bright the stars above her shone. 

Poor, suffering dove ! her song was hushed, 



2^Q POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

The blithesome song of other days, 
Yet, O ! when such true hearts are crashed, 
They breathe theh' holiest, sweetest lays. 

A step was heard. Her heart beat high ; 

Through the dim shadows of the wood 
She glanced with quick and anxious eye — 

Lo ! Sigurd by her stood ; — 
And as the moon's pale, quivering rays 

Stole through that lonely place. 
He stood, with calm, impassioned gaze 

Fixed on her tearful face. 

" Gerda," he said, " I come to speak 

A long, a last farewell ; 
Some distant land and home I seek, 

Far, far from thee to dwell. 
O, since I lost thee, gentle one. 

My truest and my best, 
I have rushed madly, blindly on, 

Nor dared to think of rest. 

"The night that spreads her starry wing 
Beyond the Northern Sea, 



THE MEETING OF SIGURD AND GERDA. 37 

Does not a deeper darkness bring 

Than that which rests on me. 
Yet, no ! I will not ask thy tears 

For my deep tale of woe ; 
Forgetfulness w411 come with years ; 

Gerda — my love — I go ! " 

" Stay ! Sigurd, stay ! O, why depart ? 

See, at thy feet I bow ; 
O, cherished idol of my heart, 

Reject — reject me now ! " 
But not upon the cold, damp ground, 

Her bended knee she pressed ; 
Upheld, and firmly clasped around, 

She wept upon his breast. 

" Reject thee ? No ! When earth rejects 
The sunshine's summer glow. 
When Heaven one suppliant's prayer neglects, 

Then will I bid thee go. 
And, by the watching stars above. 

And by all things divine, 
I swear to cherish and to love 
This heart that beats to mine ! " 
4 



POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

O, holy sense of wrongs forgot, 

And injuries forgiven ! 
The human heart that feels thee not, 

Knows not the peace of Heaven. 
Ye blessed spirits from above, 

Who guide us while we live, 
O, teach us also how to love, 

And freely to forgive. 



POEMS 



THE INNER LIFE 



PART II 



(39) 



The succeeding poems were given under 
direct spirit influence before public audiences. 
For many of them I could not obtain the 
authoK'hip, but for such as I could, the names 
are given. 

(40; 



POEMS 

FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE SPIRIT-CHILD. 

BY "JENNIE." 

O, THOU holy Heaven above us! 
O, ye angel hosts who love us! 
Ye alone know how to prove us 

By the discipline of life — 
That we faint not in endeavor, 
But with cheerful courage ever 

Rise victorious in thc' strife. 

O, my sister! O, my brother 
I was once a mortal mother ; 

4* (41) 



42 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

One sweet blossom, and no other, 

Bloomed upon the household tree : 
Very fragile, very tender, 
Very beautiful and slender — 
He was dear as life to me. 

All the spring-time's fresh unfolding, 
All of Art's exquisite moulding, 
All that thrills one in beholding. 

Centred in that fair young face; 
While an angel-tempered gladness, 
Almost blending into sadness. 

Filled him with a nameless grace. 

And I loved him Avithout measure; 
O, a ceaseless fount of pleasure 
Found I in that little treasure! 

And my heart grew good and great, 
As I thanked the God of Heaven 
That this precious one was given 

Thus to cheer my low estate. 

But, with all my prayers ascending, 
I could hear a low voice blending, 



THE SPIRIT-CHILD. 48 

Like some benison descending, 

Saying, "Place thy hopes above; 

For the test of all affection 

Is the full and free rejection 
Of all selfishness in love." 

Then I felt a sad foreboding. 
All my soul to anguish goading, 
All my inward peace corroding; 

And my rebel heart begun. 
Crying wildly, that I would not 
Yield my precious one — I could not 

Say, " Thy will, not mine, be done." 

Spring-time came with genial showers, 
Bursting buds and opening flowers. 
Singing birds and sunny hours. 

Filling heaven and earth with light. 
But the Summer — fair deceiver! — 
Came with pestilence and fever. 

Came my little bud to blight. 

O'er my threshold silent stealing, 
Chilling every sense and feeling, 



44 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

All the fount of grief unsealing, 

Came the great white angel, Death ; 
And my flower upon my bosom 
Withered, like an early blossom 

Stricken by the north wind's breath. 

And I saw him weakly lying. 

Heard his parched lips faintly sighing. 

Knew that he was dying — dying! 

And my love was vain to save ! 
All my wild, impassioned pleading. 
All my fervent interceding. 

Could not triumph o'er the grave. 

Vainly did I crave permission. 
That my anxious, tearful vision, 
Might behold the land Elysian — 

Forth into the unknown dark. 
On that broad, mysterious river. 
Did the hand of God, the Giver, 

Launch that little, fragile bark. 

Then my brain grew wild to madness, 
Changing to a sullen sadness, 



THE SPIRTT-CHTLD. 45 

Tempered by no ray of gladness ; 

And I cursed the God above, 
That, with Heaven all full of angels, 
Sounding forth their glad evangels. 

He should take my little dove. 

Then my eyelids knew no sleeping: 
Once my midnight watch while keeping, 
I had wept beyond all weeping, — 

Suddenly there seemed to fall 
From my spiritual being, 
From my inward sense of seeing. 

Scales, as from the eyes of Paul. 

Heavenly gales were round me playing, 
Angel hands my soul were staying. 
And I heard a clear voice saying, 

" Come up hither, — come and see ! 
O, thou sorrow-stricken mother ! 
Unto thee, as to none other, 

Heaven unfolds her mystery." 

God's own Spirit seemed to move me, 
All the Heaven grew bright above me, 



46 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

All the angels seemed to love me, — 

Waved their white hands as they smiled ; 
And one, fair as Summer moonlight, 
Crowned with starry gems of midnight, 
Brought to me my angel child. 

Like a flower in sunshine blowing, 
Cheeks, and lips, and eyes were glowing, — 
I could see that he was growing 

Fairer than the things of earth. 
"Thou mayst take him," said the siDirit, 
"Back to earth, there to inherit 

All the woes of mortal birth." 

I had need of no advising ; 
In divinest strength arising, 
All my selfishness despising, — 

"Nay!"! cried; "now first I know 
What it is to be a mother. 
To give being to another 

Living soul, for joy or woe. 

"Keep him in these heavenly places, 
Fold him in your pure embraces. 



THE SPIRIT-CHILD. 

Teach him the clivmest graces; 

I return to earth again ; 
Not to sit and weep supinely, 
But to hve and love divinely." 

And the angels said, "Amen!" 

O thou holy Heaven above us! 
O ye angel hosts who love us! 
Ye alone know how to prove us, 

By the discipline of life, — 
That we faint not in endeavor, 
But with cheerful courage ever 

Rise victorious in the strifec 



47 



48 ' POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



RECONCILIATION. 

God of the Granite and the Rose ! 

Soul of the Sparrow and the Bee ! 
The mighty tide of Being flows 

Through countless channels, Lord, from thee. 
It leaps to life in grass and flowers, 

Through every grade of being runs, 
Till from Creation's radiant towers 

Its glory flames in stars and suns. 

O, ye who sit and gaze on life 

"With folded hands and fettered will, 
Who only see, amid the strife, 

The dark supremacy of ill, — 
Know, that like birds, and streams, and flowers, 

The life that moves you is divine ! 
Nor time, nor space, nor human powers, 

Your Godlike spirit can confine. 



RECONCILIATION. 49 

Once, in a form of human mould, 

Upon this earthly plane I trod ; 
My fiith was weak, my heart was cold, — 

I had no hope, I knew not God. 
Deep from my being's cup I quaffed, 

With Life's Elixir brimming o'er. 
And madly sought to drain the draught, 

That I might die, to live no more ! 

There came an angel to my side — 

Not from the bowers of Paradise — 
She was mine own, mine earthly bride. 

With Heaven's pure sunshine in her eyes. 
She wept and prayed, she knew not why — - 

Her Faith, not Reason, soared above : 
She talked of God and Heaven — and I — 

Well — I was happy in her love. 

Love was my all, my guiding star. 
And like a wanderer in the night, 

I hailed its radiance from afar. 

Because it shone with certain light ; 

But all those visions, bright and high, 
Which the pure-hearted only see, 
5 



50 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Of God and Immortality, 

Could not reveal their light to me. 

At length my precious one, my wife, 
Held on her bosom's sacred shrine 

A tender form, — an infant life, — 
The union of her soul and mine. 

God ! above that precious child 
First did I breathe thy holy name. 

While strong emotions, deep and wild, 
Shook like a reed my manly frame. 

1 prayed for Heaven's eternal years; 

I prayed for light, that I might see ; 
And even with stern manhood's tears, 

I prayed for faith, O God, in Thee. 
O, this poor world seemed far too small 

To hold the measure of my love ! 
They were my God, my Heaven, my All 

My precious wife, my nestling dove. 

Ay, then there came a fearful day, 

A day of sorrow and of pain. 
When, like a helpless child, I lay. 



RECONCILIATION. 51 

'And fever burned in every vein. 
"Weeks came and went, they went and came, 

Till Faith was Fear, and Hope had died, 
And I could only breathe the name 
Of the lone watcher at my side. 

With patient love that could not fail, 

And anxious care that knew no rest, 
She sat, like a Madonna, pale. 

With our sweet infant on her breast. 
For them. I beat Life's stormy wave, 

And struggled, f ice to face, with death ; 
For them I tarried from the grave. 

And firmly held my mortal breath. 

But faint and weak at length I lay, 

While darkness gathered over all — 
I felt my pulses fluttering play 

Like Autumn leaves about to fill. 
My poor, tired heart could do no more, 

But yielded the unequal strife ; 
Ay, then I prayed, as ne'er before. 

That I miojht have Eternal Life. 



52 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

O God! my sainted mother's face 

Gleamed through the deepening shades of 
death, 
And from her lips these words of grace 

Fell gently as the evening's breath : 
" Child of my love, I gave to earth 

Thy mortal form in grief and pain — 
Lo! now, in this, thy second birth, 

I lend my strength to thee again." 

That angel-presence stood revealed. 

To her who sat beside my bed ; 
Our quivering lips Love's compact sealed, 

And one, brief, parting word was said. 
Then, leaning like a weary child 

My head upon my mother's breast, 
She bore me, changed and reconciled, 

To the fair dwellings of the blest. 

But oft at morn, or close of day, 

I feel the love that toward me yearns, 

And earthward, o'er the starry way, 
My answering spirit gladly turns. 

O Death! O Grave! before Heaven's light 



RECONCILIATION. 53 

Thy gloomy phantoms quickly fly; 
And man shall learn this truth aright — 
That he must change^ but shall not die I 

Shall change, as doth the summer rose, 

The evening light, the closing year; 
Shall sink into a sweet repose, 

To waken in a happier sphere ; — 
Shall fall, as falls the harvest grain — 

The ripened ears of golden corn. 
Which yields its life, that yet again, 

Througli ceaseless change, it be re-born. 

God of the Granite and the Rose ! 

Soul of the Sparrow and the Bee ! 
The mighty tide of Being flow^s 

Through all thy creatures back to Thee. 
Thus round and round the circle runs — 

A mighty sea without a shore — 
While men and angels, stars and suns, 

Unite to praise Thee evermore! 
5* 



54 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



HOPE FOK THE SORROWING, 

[A poem delivered at the funeral service of Mr. Henry L. Kingman, 
of North Bridgewater, Mass., November, 1802.] 

Ye holy ministers of Love, 

Blest dwellers in the upper spheres, 

In vain we fix our gaze above, 
For we are blinded by our tears. 

O, tell us to what land unknown 

The soul of him we love has flown ? 

He left us when his manly heart 

With earnest hope was beating high; 

Too soon it seemed for us to part ; 
Too soon, alas! for him to die. 

We have the tenement of clay, 

But aye the soul has passed away. 

Away, into the unknown dark. 

With fearless heart and steady hand, 



HOPE OF THE SORROWING. 55 

He calmly launched his fragile bark, 
To seek the spirits' Father Land. 
Say, has he reached some distant shore, 
To speak with us on earth no morei' 

We gaze into unmeasured space, 

And lift our tearful eyes above. 
To catch the gleaming of his face. 

Or one light whisper of his love. 
O God! O Angels! hear our cry, 
Nor let our faith in darkness die! 

Hark! for a voice of gentle tone 
The answer to our cry hath given, 

Soft as ^olian harpstrings blown. 
Responsive to the breath of even — 

"I have not sought a distant shore; 

Lo ! I am with you — weep no more. 

"Ay! Love is stronger far than death, 
And wins the victory o'er the Grave ; 
Dependent on no mortal breath. 

Its mission is to guide and save. 
Above the wrecks of Death and Time, 
It triumphs, changeless and sublime. 



66 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

" Still shall my love its vigils keep, 
True as the needle to the pole, 
For Death is not a dreamless sleep, 
Nor is the Grave man's final goal. 
The larger growth, — the life divine, — 
All that I hoped or wished, are mine." 

Blest spirit! we will weep no more. 
But lay our selfishness to rest ; 

The Providence, which we adore. 
Has ordered all things for the best. 

Life's battle fought, the victory won, 

To nobler toils pass on! pass on! 



COMPENSATION. 



COMPENSATION. 

Out in the desolate midnight, 

Out in the cold and rain, 
With the bitter, bleak winds of winter 

Driving across the plain — 
In the ghastly gloom of the churchyard, 

Crouching behind a stone. 
Fleeing from what is called Justice, 

I was safe with the dead alone. 

All of the madness and evil 

That into my nature was cast; 
All of the demon or devil 

Had filled up its measure at last. 
Blood, on my hands, of a brother! 

Blood — an indelible stain ! 
Burning, and smarting, and eating 

Into my heart and my brain. 



68 POEMS FROM THE liSNER LIFE. 

In woe and iniquity shapen, 

Conceived by my mother in sin, 
Forecast in a soil of pollution. 

Did the life of my being begin. 
I chose not the nature within me; 

I was fated and fashioned by birth; 
Foreordained to the darkness and evil, 

The sins and the sorrows of earth! 

The World was my foe ere it knew me ; 

It scattered its snares in my path : 
Like a serpent, it charmed and it drew me, 

Then met me with judgment and wrath ! 
I saw that the strong crushed the weaker, 

That wickedness won in the strife, 
And the greatest of crimes and of curses 

Was the lot of a beggar in life ! 

E'en the *irm of God's mercy seemed shorten erl, 
For all '.hat could gladden or save; 

The child of my love, and its mother. 
Were laid in the pitiless grave! 

Then, weakened and wasted by hunger — 
Ay, fauished without and within — 



COMPENSATION. 59 

All homeless, and hopeless, and friendless, 
O, what was there left me but sin? 

I met in the wood-path a lordling, 

Arrayed in liis garments of pride, 
And, like Moses who slew the Egyptian, 

I smote him so sore that he died! 
O, the blood on my hands and my garments! 

O, the terrible face of the dead! 
His gold could not tempt me to linger — 

I turned in my horror, and fled! 

I fled, but a terrible j^hantom 

Pursued like a demon of w^rath ; 
In the forest, the field, or the churchyard, 

Its footsteps w^ere close on my path ; 
And there, on tlie grave of my loved ones, 

As freezing and famished I lay, 
I was seized by the human avenger. 

And borne to the judgment away ! 

O, the prison ! the sentence ! the gallows ! 
That last fearful struggle for breath! 



60 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE, 

The rush, and the roar, and confusion, 
The depth and the darkness of death ! 

man! I have sinned and have suffered 5 
The climax of evil is past ; 

But the justice of time may determine 
That you were more guilty at last ! 

Then long did I struggle with phantoms, 
And wandered in darkness and night, 

Till there came to my soul, in its prison, 
The form of an Angel of Light. 

1 thought, in my blindness and darkness, 
That he was the Infinite God, 

Who had come in the might of his vengeance 
To smite with his merciless rod. 

So I cursed Him — and cursed Ilim — and cursed 
Him ! 

That He, in his greatness and power, 
Had summoned my soul into being, 

And made me to suffer one hour. 
I cursed Him for all of my sorrow. 

For all of my weakness and sin. 




COMPENSATION. 61 

For all of my hatred and evil, 
For darkness without and within. 

My words were all molten and glowing, 

As if from a furnace they came, 
And the breatli of my wrath made them hotter, 

Till they burned with the fierceness of flame. 
Then a light that was in me grew brighter, 

Like sunshine poured into the heart; 
I felt all my burdens grow lighter, 

And the dross from my nature depart. 

"My brother," replied the bright Angel, 

" Let the name of the Highest be blessed ! 
Lo ! he renders thee blessing for cursing ! 

His will and His way are the best. 
Thy soul in His sight hath been precious. 

Since the birth of thy being began ; ^ 
Thou art judged by the need of thy nature, 

And not by the standard of man." 

Then out of my cursing and madness, 

And out of the furnace of flame, 
My soul, like a jewel of beauty, 
6 



62 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Annealed through life's processes came. 
The forms of my loved ones were near me, 

The night of my sorrow had passed; 
God grant you, O mortals, who judged me, 

As full an acceptance at last! 



THE EAGLE OF FREEDOM. 63 



THE EAGLE OF FREEDOM. 

O, Land of our glory, our boast, and our pride ! 
Where the brave and the fearless for Freedom have 

died. 
How clear is the lustre that beams from thy 

name! 
How bright on thy brow are the laurels of fame ! 
The stars of thy Union still burn in the sky, 
And the scream of thine Eagle is heard from on 

high ! 
His eyrie is built where no foe can invade, 
Nor traitors prevail with the brand and the blade ! 

CHOEUS. 

The Eagle of Freedom, in danger and night. 
Keeps watch o'er our flag from his star-circled 

height. 
From mountain and valley, from hill-top and sea, 



64 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Three cheers for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
Hurrah for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 

Mount up, O thou Eagle! and rend, in thy flight, 
The war-cloud that hides our broad banner from 

sight ! 
Guard, guard it from danger, though war-rent and 

worn. 
And see that no star from its azure is torn! 
Keep thy breast to the storm, and thine eye on 

the sun. 
Till, true to our motto, THE MANY ARE ONE ! 
Till the red rage of war with its tumult shall cease. 
And the dove shall return with the olive of peace. 

CHOEUS. 

The Eagle of Freedom, in danger and night. 
Keeps watch o'er our flag from his star-lighted 

heiglit. 
From mountain and valley, from hill-side and sea, 
Three cheers for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
Hurrah for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 



THE EAGLE OF FREEDOM. 65 

O, sons of the mighty, the true, and the brave ! 

The souls of your heroes rest not in the grave : 

The holy libation to Liberty poured, 

Hath streamed, not in vain, from the blood-crim- 
soned sword. 

Henceforth, with your Star-Spangled Banner un- 
furled. 

Your might shall be felt to the ends of the world, 

And rising Repubhcs, like nebulae, gleam. 

Wherever the stars of your nation shall beam. 

CIIOBUS. 

The Eagle of Freedom, sublime in his flight, 
Shall rest on your banner, encircled with light ; 
And then shall the chorus, in unison be. 
Three cheers for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
Hurrah for the Eagle, the Bird of the Free ! 
6* 



66 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



MISTEESS GLENARE. 

BY " MARIAN." 

A VIRTUOUS woman is Mistress Glenare — 

Or, at least, so tlie world in its judgment would 
say; — 
With an orderly walk and a circumspect air, 

She never departs from the popular way. 
Every word that she speaks is well measured and 
weighed ; 

Her friends are selected with scrupulous care ; 
And in all that she does is her prudence displayed, 

For a virtuous woman is Mistress Glenare! 

Her youth has departed, and with it has fled 
The impulse which gives to the blood a new 
start, 
Which oftentimes turns from the reasoning head, 



MISTRESS GLEN A RE. 67 

To trust to the wisdom of God in the heart. 
Thus the robes of her purity never are stained, 

And her feet are withheld from the pitfall and 
snare ; 
Where nothing is ventured, there nothing is gained: 

O, a virtuous woman is Mistress Glenare ! 

She makes no distinction of sinners from sin ; 

Her Avords are like arrows, her tongue is a rod; 
She sees no excuse for the evil within. 

But condemns with the zeal of a partialist God ! 
On a background of darkness, of sorrow and shame, 

Her own reputation looks stainless and fair; 
So she builds up her fame, through her neighbors* 
bad name : 

O, a virtuous woman is Mistress Glenare! 

She peeps and she listens, she watches and waits, 
Nor Satan himself is more active than she 

To expose in poor sinners the faults and bad traits, 
Which she fears that the Lord might not hap- 
pen to see. 

When the Father of Spirits looks down from above 
On the good and the evil, the frail and the fair, 



68 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

How must he regard, with particular love, 

This virtuous woman — good Mistress Glenare! 

O, Mistress Glenare ! in the drama of life 

You are acting a very respectable part ; 
You have known just enough of its envious strife 

To deceive both the world and your own fool- 
ish heart. 
But say, in some moment of clear common sense, 

Pid you never in truth and sincerity dare 
To ask the plain question, aside from pretence, 

IIow you looked to the angels, dear Mistress 
Glenare ? 

The glory of God has enlightened their eyes: 

No longer, tln'ough darkness, they see but in part. 
And the robes of your righteousness do not suffice 

To cover the lack of true love in the heart. 
You look shabby, and filthy, and ragged, and 
mean — 
E'en with those you condemn, you but poorly 
compare ! 
Go ! wash you in Charity till you are clean ; 
You will change for the better, dear Mistress 
Glenare. 



MISTRESS GLENARE. 69 

Your thoughts have been run in the popular mould, 

Like wax that is plastic and easily melts; 
Till now, like a nondescript, lo, and behold ! 

You are neither yourself, nor yet any one else. 
Of tender compassion, forgiveness, and love, 

Your nature has not a respectable share; 
You are three parts of serpent, and. one of the 
dove — 

Very badly i^roportioned, dear Mistress Glenare. 

Your noblest and purest affections have died, 

Like summer-dried roses, your spirit within ; 
Your heart has grown arid, and scarce is supplied 

With sufficient vitality even to sin. 
But w^ould you be true to your virtuous name, 

There is one we commend to your tenderest care ; 
To deal with her wisely will add to your fame: 

That poor sinful woman is — Mistress Glenare. 



70 POEMS FROM THE INNEE LIFE- 



LITTLE JOHNNY. 

[A poem delivered by Miss Lizzie Doten at the close of a lecture in 
Springfield, May 10, and addressed to the parents of Little Johnny 
— Mr. and Mrs. Thomas A. Denison, of Chicopee, Mass.] 

Sing not, O blessed angels ! 

To those who truly mourn, 
But come with gifts of healing. 

For heart-strings freshly torn. 
Ah ! human hearts are tender, 

And wounds of love are deej) : 
Sing not, O blessed angels ! 

But " weep with those w^ho weep." 

Come not, O spirit-teachers ! 

With wisdom from above. 
But come with soft, low whispers 

Of sympathy and love. 
Truths seem uncertain shadows 



LITTLE JOHNNY. 71 

Beneath the clouds of care ; 
Come, then, m friendly silence, 
And strengthen them to bear. 

What will ye bring, O angels, 

To soothe the troubled breast ? 
" We will bring the cherished loved one 

From the mansions of the blest. 
Like a wandering dove returning. 

He shall nestle in each heart ; 
They will feel his blessed presence, 

And their sorrow shall depart. 

•'We will lead them from their darkness 

Out to the shining light, 
And scenes of heavenly beauty 

Shall greet their longing sight. 
There shall they see their loved one, 

Free from his earthly pain ; 
Their souls shall cease from sorrow, 

And shall ask him not again. 

" O, we only opened gently 
His little prison door ; 



72 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

He stepped into the sunshine, 
And then returned no more. 

He dwells not now in weakness, 
In the spirit's narrow cell, 

But yet remains forever 

To those who loved him well." 

What will ye bring, O teachers ! 

To those w^ho suffer loss ? 
"We will bring them faith, and patience, 

And strength to bear their cross, — 
To bear it bravely, calmly. 

Although the way seem long, 
Till hearts that bled with anguish 

Shall burst into a song. 

"They shall walk in Faith's clear sunshine, 

With souls renewed in youth. 
And the little child shall lead them 

To a knowledge of the truth. 
Tell them the loving angels 

Watch o'er their darling boy — 
They are sharers of their sorrow, 

And helpers of their joy. " 



" birdie's " SPIRIT-SONG. 73 



"BIEDIE'S" SPIRIT-SONG. 



[At the conclusion of a lecture in Boston, the following poem was 
addressed to the chairman (Mr. L. B. Wilson). It purported to come 
from Anna Cora, Mr. Wilson's only child, who passed to the spirit- 
world at the ag-e of 12 years and 7 months. She was always called by 
the pet name " Birdie."] 



With rosebuds in my hand, 
Fresh from the Summer-land, 
Father, I come and stand 

Close by your side. 
You cannot see me here, 
Or feel my presence near. 
And yet your " Birdie " dear 

Never has died. 

O, no .' ^or angels bright. 
Out of the blessed light, 
Shone on my wondering sight, 
Singing, " We come ! 



74 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Lamb for the fold above — 
Tender, young, nestling dove — 
Safe in our arms of love, 
Haste to thy home. " 

Mother ! I could not stay ; 
In a sweet dream I lay, 
Wafted to Heaven away, 

Far from the night ; 
Then, with a glad surprise, 
Did I unclose my eyes, 
Under those cloudless skies, 

Smiling with light ! 

O ! were you with me there, 
Free from your earthly care, 
All of my joy to share, 

I were more blest. 
But it is best to stay 
Here in the earthly way. 
Till the good angels say, 

" Come to your rest ! ' 

Check, then, the filling tear; 
- Think of me still as near. 



" birdie's " SPIRIT-SONG. 75 

Father and mother dear, 

Soon on that shore, 
Where all the loved ones meet, 
Resting your pilgrim feet. 
Shall you with blessings greet 

"Birdie" once more. 



76 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



MY SPIRIT-HOME. 



" We find the following beautiful stanzas In the Evening Courier, 
published in Portland, Me. They were composed in spirit-life by Miss 
A. W. Sprague, and spoken under spirit influence by Miss Lizzie 
Doten, at the close of her lecture in that city, on Sunday evening, 
March 22d. The lines are evidently from the spirit of Miss Sprague, 
who passed to the spirit-world last summer, from her home in Ver- 
mont, as tliere are allusions in it to incidents which took place dur- 
ing her illness, in Oswego, N. Y., about a year since. Allusion is also 
made to a poem written by her and published in the Banner, and also 
to another poem of hers, ' I wait, I wait at the golden gate.' " — Banner 
of Light. 



I COME, I come from my spirit-home, 

Like a bird in the early spring, 
To the loved ones here, whom my heart holds dear, 

A messao-e of love to brin<^. 
O, the heavens are wide, but they cannot divide 

The spirits Mdiom love makes free ! 
The green old earth, and the land of my birth. 

With its homes, are still dear to me. 



MY SrmiT-HOME. 77 

The phantoms of pain in my burning brain 

Have fled from the Heaven's clear light; 
I lie no more on the lake's lone shore, 

In the fever dreams of night. 
O, it was not late when I fled from fate, 

And that which the woiid calls sin ; 
No longer " I wait at the golden gate," 

For the angels have let me in. 

O, not too soon, though at life's high noon. 

Was the close of my earthly day; 
As the roses fade, ere the evening shade, 

I passed from the earth away. 
And I knew not the blight of the bitter night, 

Which withers the autumn flowers. 
Or the lengthening years, with their weight of fears, 

That burden the spirit's powers. 

In the forest wide, by the lake's green side, 

The angels had whispered low; 
From " over the sea " they had called to me. 

And I knew that I soon must go; 
But I felt no fear when I knew they were near, 

Nor shrank from the narrow way, 
7* 



78 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

For I caught faint gleams of the crystal streams, 
And the light of the heavenly day. 

O ! the angels bright, with their robes of hght, 

Tlie clasp of each gentle hand, 
And the eyes that smiled on earth's weary child, 

As I entered the better land ! 
But words are weak when the soul would speak 

Of the angel-home above ; 
Faint visions alone are to man made known, 

Of that dwellinor of liojht and love. 

My home is there, in that world so fair, 

But the space is not deep or wide 
Which lies between this earthly scene 

And the home on the other side. 
The thought of love, like a carrier dove, 

Shall the heart's fond message bear, 
And the angel bands, with their willing hands, 

Shall answer each earnest prayer. 

Fare ye well! farewell! My spirit can dwell 

In the earthly form no more ; 
But whither I go, and the icay^ ye shall know, 



MY SPIRIT-HOME. 79 

To your home on the other shore. 
Soon " over the sea " ye shall walk with me, 

On the hills by the angels trod, 
In the garments white, of the sons of light, 

In the freedom and peace of God. 



so POEMS FROM THE INNEU LIFE. 



I STILL LIVE. 



[Given under the inspiration of Miss A. W. Sprague, at the con- 
clusion of a lecture in Philadelphia, October 25, 1863.] 



Thou, whose love is changeless, 
Both now and evermore; 

Source of all conscious beinsfi 

o 

Thy goodness I adore. 
Lord, I would ever praise Thee, 

For all Thy love can give ; 
But most of all, O Father! 

I thank Thee that I live. 

1 live ! O ye who loved me ! 
Your faith was not in vain ; 

Back through the shadowy valley 

I come to you again. 
Safe in the love that guides me, 

With fearless feet I tread — 



I STILL LIVE. 81 

My home is with the angels — • 
O, say not I am dead! 

Not dead! O, no, but lifted 

Above all earthly strife ; 
Now first 1 know the meaning, 

And feel the power of life — ■ 
The power to rise uncumbered 

By woe, or want, or care; 
To breathe fresh inspiration 

From 23ure, celestial air; — 

To feel that all the tempests 

Of human life have passed, 
And that my ark, in safety 

Kests on the mount at last ; 
To send my soul's great longings, 

Like Noah's dove, abroad, 
And find them swift returning. 

With signs of peace from God ; — 

To soar in fearless freedom 

Through broad, blue, boundless skies 
And catch the radiant gleaming 



82 P02MS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Of love-lit, angel eyes ; 
To feel the Father's presence 

Around me, near or far, 
And see His radiant glory 

Stretch onward, star by star;^ 

To feel those grand upliftings 

That know not space nor time ; 
To hear all discords ending 

In harmony sublime ; 
To know that sin and error 

Are dimly understood, 
And that which man calls Evil 

Is undeveloj^ed Good ; — 

To stand in spell-bound rapture 

On some celestial height, 
And see God's glorious sunshine 

Dispel the shades of night; 
To feel that all creation 

With love and joy is rife ; — 
This, O my earthly loved ones, 

This is Eternal Life! 



I STILL LIVE. 83 

There, eyes that closed in darkness 

Shall open to the morn ; 
And those whom death had stricken, 

Shall find themselves new-born ; 
The lame shall leap with gladness, 

The blind rejoice to see; 
The slave shall know no master. 

And the prisoner shall be free. 

There, the worn and heavy-laden 

Theii- burdens shall lay down; 
There, crosses, borne in meekness, 

At length shall win the crown ; 
And lonely hearts that famished 

For sympathy and love. 
Shall find a free aflTection 

In the angel-home above. 

O, children of our Father! 

Weep not for those wdio pass. 
Like rose-leaves gently scattered. 

Like dew-drops from tlie grass. 
Ay, look not down in sadness. 

But fix your gaze on high ; 



84 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

They only dropped their mantles - 
Their souls can never die. 

They live! and still unbroken 

Is that magnetic chain, 
Which, in your tearful blindness, 

You thought was rent in twain. 
That chain of love was fashioned 

By more tlian human art, 
And every link is welded 

So firm it cannot part. 

They iive ! but O, not idly. 

To fold their hands to rest, 
For they who love God truly. 

Are they who serve him best. 
Love lightens all their labor, 

And makes all duty sweet ; 
Their hands are never weary, 

Nor way-worn are their feet. 

Thus by that world of beauty, 

And by that life of love, 
And by the holy angels 



1 STILL LIVE. 85 

Who listen now above, ^ 

I pledge my soul's endeavor, 

To do whate'er I can 
To bless ray sister woman, 

And aid my brother man. 

O Thou, whose love is changeless, 

Both noAV and evermore. 
Source of all conscious being! 

Thy goodness I adore. 
Lord, I would ever praise Thee 

For all Thy love can give ; 
But most of all, O Father, 

I thank Thee that I live. 



86 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



[The two following poems were given under an influence purport- 
ing to be that of Shakspeare.] 

LIFE. 



"To be, or not to be," is not "the question;" 
There is no choice of Life. Ay, mark it well! — 
For Death is but another name for Change. 
The weary shuffle off their mortal coil, 
And think to slumber in eternal night. 
But, lo ! the man, though dead, is living still; 
LTnclothed, is clothed upon, and his Mortality 
Is swallowed up of Life. 

"He babbles o' green fields, then fills asleep," 
And straight awakes amid eternal verdure. 
Fairer than "dreams of a Midsummer's Night," 
The fields Elysian stretch before him. 
No "Tempest" rends the ever peaceful bowers 
Of asphodel, and fadeless amaranth; 



LIFE. 87 

No hot sirocco blows with poisonous breath ; 
No midnight frights him with its goblir.s grim, 
Presaging sudden death. No Macbeth there, 
Mad with ambition, plotteth damning deeds; 
No Hamlet, haunted by his flithei-'s gliost. 
Stalks wildly forth intent on vengean(;e dire. 
The curse of Cain on earth is consummate. 
And knows no resurrection. Spirits learn 
That spirit is immortal, and no poisoned cup, 
Or dagger's thrust, or sting of deadly asp. 
Can rob it of its Godlike attribute. 
This mortal garb may be as full of wounds 
And bloody rents as royal Caesar's mantle; 
Yet that which made it man or Ccesar liveth still. 

Man learns, in this Valhalla of his soul. 
To love, nor ever finds "Love's Labor Lost." 
No two-faced FalstafF proffers double suit ; 
No Desdemona mourns lago's art; 
And every Romeo finds his Juliet. 
The stroke of Death is but a kindly frost, 
Whicli cracks tlie sliell, and leaves the kernel room 
To germinate. What most consummate fools 
This fear of death doth make us ! Reason plays 



bo POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

The crave.r.. unto sense, and in her fear 
Chooses the slow and slavish death of life, 
Rather than freedom in the life of death. 
" Thus Igyiorance makes cowards of us all," 
And blinds us to our being's best estate. 
Madly we cling to life through nameless ills, 
Pinched by necessity, and scourged by fite, 
Fainting in heat and freezing in the cold, 
While war, and pestilence, and sore distress. 
Fever and famine, fire and flood, combine 
To drive the spirit from its wreck of clay. 

O, poor Humanity ! ITow full of blots, 
And stains, and pains, and miseries thou art ! 
Here let me be thine Antony, and plead 
Thy cause against the slayers of thy peace. 
Though wounded, yet thou art not dead, thou child 
Of Immortality — thou heir of God ! 
He who would slay thee, be he brute or Brutus, 
Plunges the dagger in his own vile heart. 
And yet thy wounds are })iteous. I could weep 
That aught so fair from the Creator's hand 
Should be so marred and mangled, like a lamb 
Torn by the ravening wolves. Here, let me take 



LIFE. 89 

Thy mantle, pierced with gaping, ghastly wounds, 
From daggers clutched by ingrate hands. O Truth ! 
How many, in thy sacred name, have slain 
Humanity, thinking they did God service ! 
Kome, and not Ca3sar — Doctrines, and not Men. 

I cannot count the wounds which lust for power, 
And wealth, and place, and precedence have made. 
But, O ! the keenest, deepest, deadliest stabs 
Of all, were made by false Philosophy 
And false Tlieology combined — 
Philosophy, that knew not what it did ; 
Theology, that did not what it knew. 
See here ! This rent made by the fear of God, 
That gracious God, whose "mercy seasons justice," 
Who feeds the raven, clothes the lilies, heeds 
The sparrow when it falls, and sends his rain 
Alike upon the evil and the good. 
And yet they were all " honorable men " 
Who taught this doctrine — '•^honorable men!'*'* 
Whose failing was a lack of common sense. 

And, lo ! here is another — Fear of Truth — 
Blind Superstition made this horrid rent, 

8* 



90 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

And Bigotry quick followed up the thrust. 
O, 'tis an eye weeping great tears of blood ! 
An eagle eye, that dared to love the light 
Which Bigotry and Superstition feared, 
Lest it should make their deeds of evil plain. 
Thus is it, he who dares to see a Truth 
Not recognized in creeds, must die the death. 
But noon-day never stayed for bats and owls, 
And Truth's clear light shall yet arise and shine. 

See here: another wound — The fear of Death — 
That blessed consummation of this life. 
Which soothes all pain, makes good all loss, revives 
The weak, gives rest and peace, makes free the 

slave, 
Levels all past distinctions, and doth place 
The beggar on a footing with the king. 
O, poor Humanity ! those who conspired 
To slay thee, through exceeding love for God, 
And for the glory of His mighty name. 
Smote at the very centre of tliy peace, 
And damning doubts, like daggers' thrusts, attest 
How zealously they aimed each cruel blow. 



LIFE. 91 

And yet, this rent and bloody mantle is not thee. 
Slain, but not dead — thy spirit shall arise 
And face tny startled enemies again, 
As royal Caesar's ghost appeared to Brutus, 
In Sardis' and Philippi's tented plains. 
Thou royal heir to kingdoms yet unknown! 
A mightier than Caesar is thy Friend. 
He stays the hand of Cassius, Brutus, all 
Who aim their weapons at thy life, and dulls 
Their daggers' points against thy deathless soul. 
From every gaping wound of fear or doubt, 
Murder or malice, sorrow or despair. 
Thy spirit leaps as from a prison door. 
It laughs at death and daggers, as it flies 
To hold companionship with spirits blest; 
And having thus informed itself of life, 
The question then, — "To be, or not to be?" — 
Is swallowed up in Immortality. 



92 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



LOVE. 

[Shak spear e.] 

O World ! somewhat I have to say to thee. 
O sin-sick, heart-sick, soul-sick, love-sick World! 
So ailing art thou, both in part and particle, 
That solid trutli thy stomach ill digests. 
Yet, since thou art my mother, I will love thee. 
And heedless of thy frowns, " will speak right on." 

That which belongs to all men is least prized; 
The thing most common is least understood. 
That which is deep and silent is divine; 
And tliere is nought on earth so craved, so common, 
So misunderstood, or so divine, as Love. 
When meted in proportion to man's need, 
" Measure for measure " it doth purify, 
Exalt, and make him equal with the gods. 



LOVE. 93 

He feeds upon ambrosia, and his drink 

Is nectar ; high Olympus cannot yield 

Delights more grateful to his soul and sense. 

Parnassus fails his rapture to express, 

And Helicon hath less of inspiration. 

But, prithee, should he chance to drink too deep 

Of the exhilarating draught, — should plunge 

Him head and ears into this 'wildering flood, — 

Mark, then, what marvellous diversions 

From the centre of his gravity ensue. 

Judgment is scouted — sober common sense 

Yields to imagination's airy flights ; 

Upon a swift-winged hippogrift* he mounts, 

To seek the fiir Arcadia of his dreams. 

He builds him castles — basks in moonshine — 

feeds 
Among the lilies — pours his passion forth 
In amorous canticles and burning sighs — 
Makes him a bed of roses, and lies down 
To revel in his rainbow-colored dreams — 
Until some turn, some ill-begotten chance, 
Most unexpectedly invades his peace. 
And castles, moonshine, roses, rainbows fly, 
And leave him to the stern realities of life« 



94 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Alas, poor Human Nature ! Even fools 

Must learn through sad experience to grow wise. 

Love is the highest attribute of Deity ; 
And he who loves divinely is most blest. 
It purge th passion from the soul and sense, 
And makes the man a unit in himself; 
Head, eyes, hands, heart, all work in unison, 
And beasts, and savages, and rudest hinds. 
All feel alike its exercise of power. 

Ambition cannot walk with it; for he 
Who learns to live and love aright, loves all. 
And finds preferment in the general weal. 
Though, Proteus like, it takes a thousand forms, 
It doth o'ercome all evil with its good, 
Casteth out devils — sensuality, and sin. 
And green-eyed jealousy, and hate ; and like 
Chrysostom, golden-mouthed, it doth attune 
The words of common speech to sweet accord. 
And gives significance to simplest things. 

It buddeth out in tender infancy, 
Like fresh-blown violets in the early spring, 



LOVE. 95 

And giveth form and fashion to all life. 

For, by its character, it doth decide 

What elements and essences the soul 

Shall draw from contact with material things. 

As roses draw their blushes, lilies whiteness, 

Violets their azure, from the same dull earth, 

So Love extracts the sweetnesses of Life, 

And doth so mingle all within her crucible, 

That she creates the difference between 

Immortal souls. The fiery heart of youth. 

Full of high aims and generous purj^oses of good, 

Swells like the ocean-waves beneath the moon, 

And brooketh no restraint, until it finds 

Its living counter2:>art, and mergeth all 

It hath of truth, and manliness, and might, 

Into a second and a dearer self 

So goes the world ! and strong necessity 
Creates the law of action, whose results 
Join issue with the love of God himself. 
O jealous, wanton, ill-conceited World! 
How little dost thou understand the deep 
Significance and potency of Love ! 
Thou hast defiled thyself with gross perversions, 



96 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Till purity of love is but a jest, 

Or reckoned with the fantasies of fools. 

O, I would take thee, dear Humanity, 
And set thee face to face with perfect Love. 
She is thy mother. Love and Wisdom met 
United by Eternal Power. The worlds 
Sprang forth from chaos; and the love which 

brought 
Them into being doth sustain them still. 
The monad and the angel rest alike 
Within its all-embracing arms ; and life, 
And death, with all that makes our mortal state, 
Are cradled at the footstool of this power. 
Then, sweet Humanity, thou favored child 
Of God, look up ! An everlasting chain 
Doth bind thee to the miglity heart of all. 
Love's labor never can be lost, He who 
Created, shall, through Love, perfect and save; 
And that which hath such poor expression here, 
Shall find fruition in a brighter sphere. 



FOR A THAT. 



97 



FOU A' THAT. 

[The following poem was given under the inspiration of Eobert 
Burns.] 

Is there a luckless wight on earth, 

Oppressed wi' care and a' that, 
Who holds his life as little worth. 

His home is Heaven for a' that — 
For a' that, and a' that. 

There's muckle joy for a' that ; 
He's seen the warst o' hell below. 

His home is Heaven for a' that. 

The weary slave that drags his chain, 

In toil and grief, and a' that. 
Shall find relief from a' his pain. 
And rest in Heaven from a' that. 

From a' that and a' that. 
There's freedom there from a' that, 
9 



98 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

For Justice throws into the scale 
A recompense for a' that. 

Puir souls, in right not unco strong, 

Through love and want and a' that, 
There sure is j^ower to right their wrong, 

And save their souls, for a' tliat — 
For a' that, and a' that. 

The Lord is guid for a' that; 
The de'il himsel' can turn and mend, 

And come to Heaven for a' that. 

On Scotia's hills the gowans spring. 

The heather blooms, and a' tliat; 
The mavis and the merle sing. 

But Heaven's my home for a' that — 
For a' that, and a' that. 

I wadna' change for a' that. 
He who once finds the Heaven aboon 

Will not come back for a' that. 



99 



WORDS 0' CHEER. 

[Given under the inspiration of Robert Burns.] 

GuiD Friends: 

Although not present to your sight, 
I gie ye greeting here to-night; 
Not claiming to be perfect quite, 

Frae taint o' passion, 
Yet will I hauld my speech aright, 

In guicl Scotch fashion. 

O, could some cantie* word o' mine, 
But make your careworn faces shine, 
Or cause the hearts in grief that pine, 

To throb with pleasure, 
Then wad my cup to auld lang syne. 

Fill to its measure. 

* Cheerful. 



100 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

The gracious powers above us, know 
How sair a weight of want and woe 
Must be the lot of those who go 

Through Earth to Heaven; 
But aye, the life aboon will show 

Wherefore 'twas given. 

And that guid God who loves us a', 
Who sees the chittering* sparrow fa', 
Will never turn his face awa', 

Though you should stray; 
But all his wandering sheep wdll ca' 

Back to the w^ay. 

So muclde t are the cares o' men, 
That Truth at times is hard to ken, 
And Error, to her grousome| den^ 

So dark and eerie. 
Wiles those who have na heart to men'j§ 

Puir wanderers weary. 

Alack ! how mony a luckless wight 
Has gane agley || in Error's night, 

* Trembling. f Great. J Gloomy. § Amend. || Astray. 



WORDS O' CHEER. 101 

Not tliat he had less love for right 

Than countless ithers ; 
But that he lacked the keener sight 

Of his guid brithers. 

Lo ! Calvin, Knox, and Luther, cry 

« I have the Truth " — « and I " — " and I." — 

" Puir sinners ! if ye gang agley, 

The de'il will hae ye. 
And then the Lord will stand abeigh, 

And will na save ye." 

But hoolie * hoolie ! Na sae fast ; 
When Gabriel shall blaw his blast, 
And Heaven and Earth aAva' have passed. 

These lang syne saints. 
Shall find baith de'il and hell at last, 

Mere pious feints. 

The upright, honest-hearted man, 
Who strives to do the best he can, 
Need never fear the Church's ban. 
Or hell's damnation ; 

* stop. 
9* 



102 POExAIS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

For God will need na special plan 
For his salvation. 

The one who knows our deepest needs, 
Recks little how man counts his beads, 
For Righteousness is not in creeds, 

Or solemn faces ; 
But rather lies in kindly deeds, 

And CHiristian graces, 

Then never fear ; wi' purpose leal, * 
A head to think, a heart to feel 
For human woe and human weal, 

Na preachin' loun f 
Your sacred birthright e'er can steal 

To Heaven aboon. 

Tak'l tent o' truth, and heed this well 
The man who sins makes his ain hell ; 
There's na waurse de'il than himsel'; 

But God is strongest : 
And when puir human hearts rebel, 

He haukls out longest. 

* True. t Fellow. X ^^7 attention. 



WORDS O' CHEER. 103 

With loving kindness will he wait, 
Till all the prodigals o' fate 
Return unto their fair estate, 

And blessings mony ; 
Kor will he shut the gowden gate 

Of Heaven on ony. 



104 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



RESURREXI. 



"A Remarkable Poem. — The following striking poem was re. 
cited by Miss Lizzie Doten, a Spiritual trance-speaker, at the close of 
a recent lecture in Boston. She professed to give it impromptu, as 
far as she was concerned, and to speak under the direct influence of 
Edgar A. Poe. Whatever may be the truth about its production, the 
poem is, in several respects, a remarkable one. Miss Doten is, ap- 
parently, incapable of originating such a poem. If it was written for 
her by some one else, and merely committed to memory and recited 
by her, the poem is, nevertheless, wonderful as a reproduction of the 
singular music and alliteration of Poe's style, and as manifesting the 
Bame intensity of feeling. "Whoever wrote the poem must have been 
exceedingly familiar with Poe, and deeply in sympathy with his spirit. 
But if Miss Doten is honest, and the poem originated as she said it 
did, it is unquestionably the most astonisliing thing that Spiritualism 
has produced. It does not follow, necessarily, in that case, that Poe 
himself made the poem, — although we are asked to believe a great 
many spiritual things on less cogent evidence, — but it is, in any view 
of it that may be taken, a very singular and mysterious production. 
There is, in the second verse, an allusion to a previous poem that 
purported to come from the spirit of Poe, which was published sev- 
eral years since, and attracted much attention, but the following poem 
is of a higher order, and much more like Poe than t^e other." — 
Springfield Eepuhlican. 

From the throne of Life Eternal, 
From the home of love supernal, 



RESURREXI. 105 

Where the angel feet make music over all the starry 
floor — 
Mortals, I have come to meet you, 
Come with words of peace to greet you, 
And to tell you of the glory that is mine forever- 
more. 

Once before I found a mortal 
Waiting at the heavenly portal — 
Waiting but to catch some echo from that ever- 
opening door; 
Then I seized his quickened being. 
And through all his inward seeing. 
Caused my burning inspiration in a fiery flood to 
pour ! 

Now I come more meekly human, 
And the weak lips of a woman 
Touch with fire from off" the altar, not with burn- 
ings as of yore ; 
But in holy love descending, 
With her chastened being blending, 
I would fill your souls with music from the bright 
celestial shore. 



106 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

As one heart yearns for another, 
As a child turns to its mother, 
From the golden gates of glory tm-n I to the earth 
once more, 
Where I drained the cup of sadness, 
Where my soul was stung to madness, 
And life's bitter, burning billows swept my burdened 
being o'er. 

Here the harpies and the ravens, — 
Human vampyres, sordid cravens, — 
Preyed upon my soul and substance till I writhed in 
anguish sore ; 
Life and I then seemed mismated, 
For I felt accursed and fated. 
Like a restless, wrathful spirit, wandering on the 
Stygian shore. 

Tortured by a nameless yearning, 
Like a frost-fire, freezing, burning. 
Did the purple, pulsing life-tide through its fevered 
channels pour. 
Till the golden bowl — Life's token — 



RESURREXI. 107 

Into shining shards was broken, 
And my chained and chafing sj^irit leaped from out 
its prison door. 



'!=>'> 
'g. 



But while living, striving, dyinj 
Never did my soul cease cryin< 
" Ye who guide the Fates and Furies, give, O give 
me, I implore, 
From the myriad hosts of nations, 
From the countless constellations. 
One pure spirit that can love me — one that I, too, 
can adore ! " 

Through this fervent aspiration ' 
Found my fainting soul salvation. 
For from out its blackened fire-crypts did my quick- 
ened spirit soar; 
And my beautiful ideal — 
Not too saintly to be real — 
Burst more brightly on my vision than the loved and 
lost Lenore. 

'Mid the surging seas she found me, 
With the billows breaking round me, 



108 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

And my saddened, sinking sjoirit in her arms of love 
upbore ; 
Like a lone one, weak and weary. 
Wandering in the midnight dreary, 
On her sinless, saintly bosom, brought me to the 
heavenly shore. 

Like the breath of blossoms blending, 
Like the prayers of saints ascending. 
Like the rainbow's seven-hued glory, blend our souls 
forevermore ; 
Earthly love and lust enslaved me, 
But divinest love hath saved me. 
And I know now, first and only, how to love and to 
adore. 

O, my mortal friends and brothers! 

"We are each and all another's. 
And the soul that gives most freely from its treasure 
hath the more ; 

Would you lose your life, you find it. 

And in giving love, you bind it 
Like an amulet of safety, to your heart forevermore. 



THE PROPHECY OF VALA. 109 



THE PROPHECY OF VALA. 

[Given under tlie inspiration of Edg-ar A. Poe.] 

The Prophecy of Vala is founded on the Scandinavian mythology. 
Odin, the great All Father, is the sovereig-n power of the universe ; 
Thor, a lesser god, of whom it is said, " his mighty hammer smote 
thunder out of every thiug." Baldur was a son of Odin and Frigga. 
He was slain by Horder, his bliud brotlier, who was persuaded to 
the act by Loke, an evil spirit, corresponding to the Hebrew or Chris- 
tian devil. The Valkyrien were the genii of the battle-field. The three 
Nornen were the Fates who watered the tree Yggdrasill, at whose 
roots it is said that a dragon was constantly gnawing. The Heira- 
skringla was the circle of the universe. Vala was a seeress, or proph- 
etess, who was summoned from the dead by Odin, to tell of the fate 
of Baldur ; but on her appearance refused to do so, and to the aston- 
ishment of all, prophesied the death of all the sons of Odin at the day 
of Ragnaroc, which corresponds to the day of judgment, with the ex- 
ception that it was also the day of reconstruction, or renewal of .he 
world. The Prophecy of Vala, as given in the old Icelandic Edda, has 
been used with perfect freedom, to present the idea that Good, tliough 
apparently overcome of Evil, should ultimately triumph. — Explana- 
tion by Poe. 

I HAVE walked with tlie Fates and the Furies 'mid 

the wrecks of the raiglity Past, 
I have stood in the giant shadows which the ages 

have backward cast, 



110 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

And I've heard the voices of prophets come down 

in a lengthening chain, 
Translating the Truth Eternal, and making its 

meaning plain ; 
Backward still, ever backward, 'mid wreck and 

ruin I trod. 
Seeking Life's secret sources, and the primal truths 

of God. 

"Tell me," I cried, "O Prophet, thou shade of 

the mighty Past, 
What of the Truth in the future ? Is its horoscope 

yet cast? 
Thou didst give it its birth and being, thou didst 

cradle it in thy breast — 
Show me its shining orbit, and the place of its 

final rest!" 

A sound like the restless earthquake! a crash like 

the "crack of doom"! 
And a fiery fulmination streamed in through the 

frightened gloom. 
I stood in the halls of Odin, and the great AH 

Father shone 



THE PROPHECY OF YALA. Ill 

Like the centre anJ sun of Being, 'mid the glories 

of liis tlirone; 
And Thor, with his mighty hammer, upraised iu 

his giant hand, 
Stood ready to wake the thunder at his sovereign 

Lord's command. 

"Ho, Thor!" said the mighty Odin, "our omens 

are all of ill, 
For the dragon gnaweth sharply at the roots of 

Yggdrasill ; 
I hear the wild Valkyrien, as they shriek on the 

battle-plain. 
And the moans of the faithful ISTornen, as they 

weep over Baldur slain. 
A woe to the serpent Loke, and to Horder's 

reckless ruth. 
For Goodness is slain of Evil, and Falsehood hath 

conquered Truth ! 
Now call thou on mystic Yala, as she sleeps in 

the grave of Time, 
Where the hoary age hath written her name in a 

frosty rime; 



112 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

She can tell when the sun will darken, when the 

stars shall cease to burn, 
When the sleeping dead shall waken, and when 

Baldur shall return." 

A sound like the rushing tempest, and the won- 
drous hammer fell. 
And the great Heimskringla shuddered, and swayed 

like a mighty bell. 
There were mingled murmurs and discords, like 

the wailing of troubled souls ; 
Like the gnomes at their fiery forges — like the 

howlino;s of restless cijhouls. 
Then out of the fiery covert of the tempest and 

the storm. 
Like a vision of troubled slumber, came a woman's 

stately form. 
There fell a hush as at midnight, when the sheeted 

dead awake. 
And even the silence shuddered, as her w^ords of 

power she spake : 

"Mighty Odin, I am Vala, 
I have heard your thunder-call, 



THE PROPHECY OF VALA. 113 

I have heard the woful wailing 

Sounding forth from Wingolf's hall; 
And I know that beauteous Baldur, 

Loved of all the gods, is slain — 
That the evil Loke triumphs, 

And on Horder rests the stain. 
But my words shall fail to tell you 

Aught concerning him you mourn, 
For the leaves that bear the record 

From the Tree of Life are torn ; 
And while Hecla's fires shall glow, 
Or the bubbling Geysers flow. 
Of his fite no one shall know — 
Understand you this, or no ? 

"I will sing a solemn Saga, 

I will chant a Runic rhyme, 
Weave a wild, prophetic Edda, 

From the scattered threads of time : 
Know, O Odin, — miglity Odin, — 

That thy sons shnll all be slain, 
Where the wild Valkyrien gather, 

On the bloody battle plain ; 
And thy throne itself shall tremble 
10* 



114 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

With the stern, resistless shock, 
Which shall rend the world asunder 

At the day of Ragnaroc. 
Other stars the night shall know, 
From the rock shall waters flow, 
And from ruin beauty grow. 
Understand you this, or no? 

*' Vainly shall the faithful Xornen 

Water drooping Yggdrasill, 
For the wrathful, restless dragon 

At its roots is gnawing still. 
Loke's evil arts shall triumph. 

Herder's eyes be dark with night, 
Till the' day of re-creation 

Brings the buried Truth to light: 
Then a greater god than Odin, 

Over all the worlds shall reign. 
And my Saga's mystic meaning, 

As the sunlight shall be plain. 
Out of evil good shall grow — 
Doubt me not, for time shall show. 
Understand you this, or no? 
Fare you well! I go — I go!" 



THE PROPHECY OF VALA. 115 

There came a voice as of tbunder, with a gleam of 
lurid light, 

And the mystic Yala vanished like a meteor of 
the night; 

Then I saw that the truth of the j^resent is but 
the truth of the past, 

But each phase is greater, and grander, and 
mightier than the last — 

That the past is ever prophetic of that which is 
yet to be. 

And that God reveals his glory by slow and dis- 
tinct degree; 

Yet still are the nations weeping o'er the graves 
of the Truth and Right : 

Lo! I summon another Yala — let her prophesy 
to-night. 

With the amaranth, and the myrtle, and the aspho- 
del on her brow. 

Still wet with the dew of the kingdom, doth she 
stand before you now: 

" Xot with sound of many thunders, 
Not w^th miracles and wonders. 
Would I herald forth my coming from the peace- 
ful spirit-shore ; 



116 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

But in God's own love descending, 
With your aspirations blending, 
I would teach you of the future, that you watch 
and weep no more. 

"God is God from the creation; 
Truth, alone, is man's salvation: 
But the God that now you worship soon shall be 
your God no more ; 
For the soul, in its unfolding. 
Evermore its thought remoulding. 
Learns more truly, in its progress, 'how to love 
and to adore ! ' 

" Evil is of Good, twin brother. 
Born of God, and of none other : 
And though Truth seems slain of Error, through 
the ills that men deplore, 
Yet, still nearer to perfection, 
She shall know a resurrection. 
Passing on from ceaseless glory, unto glory ever- 
more. 



"From the truths of former ages. 
From the world's close-lettered pages, 



THE PROPHECY OF VALA. 117 

Man shall learn to meet more bravely all the life 
that lies before; 
For the day of retribution 
Is the final restitution 
Of the good, the true, the holy, which shall live 
fore verm ore ! 
* Understand you this, or no? 
Fare you well! I go — I go!'" 



118 POEMS FEOM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE KINGDOM. 

[Given under the inspiration of Poe.] 
" And 1 saw no temple therein." — Rev. 21 : 22. 

'TwAs the ominous month of October — 

How the memories rise in my soul! 

How they swell like a sea in my soul! — 
When a spirit, sad, silent, and sober, 

Whose glance was a word of control. 
Drew me down to the dark Lake Avernus, 

In the desolate Kingdom of Death — 
To the mist-covered Lake of Avernus, 

In the ghoul-haunted Kingdom of Death. 

And there, as I shivered and waited, 
I talked with the Souls of the Dead — 
With those whom the living call dead; 

The lawless, the lone, and the hated, 



THE KINGDOM. 119 

Who broke from their bondage and fled — 

From madness and misery fled. 
Each word was a burning eruption 

That leapt from a crater of flame — 
A red, lava-tide of corruption, 

That out of life's sediment came, 
From the scoriae natures God gave them. 

Compounded of glory and shame. 

" Aboard ! " cries our pilot and leader ; 

Then wildly we rush to embark, 

We recklessly rush to embark; 
And forth in our ghostly Ellida* 

We swept in the silence and dark — 
O God ! on that black Lake Avernus, 

Where vampyres drink even the breath, 
On that terrible Lake of Avernus, 

Leading down to the whirlpool of Death ! 

It was there the Eumenidesf found us, 
In sight of no shelter or shore — 
No beacon or liirht from the shore. 



* The dragon-ship of the Norse mythology, 
t The Fates and Furies. 



120 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

They lashed up the white waves around us, 
We sank in the waters' wild roar; 

But not to the regions infernal, 

Through billows of sulphurous flame, 

But unto the City Eternal, 

The Home of the Blessed, we came. 

To the gate of the Beautiful City, 
All fainting and weary we pressed, 
Impatient and hopeful we j^ressed. 

"O, Heart of the Holy, take pity, 
And welcome us home to our rest! 

Pursued by the Fates and the Furies, 
In darkness and danger we fled — 

From the pitiless Fates and the Furies, 
Through the desolate realms of the Dead." 

^'•Jure Divmo, I here claim admission!" 

Exclaimed a proud prelate, who rushed to the 
gate; 
*■'■ Ave /Sanctissima, hear my petition 

Holy Saint Peter; O, why should I wait? 
O, J'o)is pietatis, O, glorious flood. 
My soul is washed clean in the Lamb's precious 
blood." 



THE KINGDOM. 121 

Like the song of a bird that yet lingers, 

When the wide-wandering Avarbler has flown; 

Like the wind-harp by Eolus blown, 
As if touched by the lightest of fingers, 

The portal wide open was thrown; 
And we saw — not tlie holy Saint Peter, 

Not even an angel of light, 
But a vision far dearer and sweeter, 

Not brilliant nor blindingly bright. 

But marvellous unto the sight! 

In the midst of the mystical splendor, 
Stood a beautiful, beautiful child — 
A golden-haired, azure-eyed child. 

With a look that was touching and tender. 
She stretched out her white hand and smiled : 

"Ay, welcome, thrice welcome, poor mortals, 
O, why do ye linger and wait ? 

Come fearlessly in at these portals — 
No warder keeps watch at the gate!" 

" Gloria Deo! Te Deum laudamiis ! '''' 

Exclaimed the proud prelate, "I'm safe into 
Heaven ; 

11 



122 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Through the blood of the Lamb, and the martyrs 
who claim us, 
My soul has been jourchased, my sins are for- 
given ! 

I tread where the saints and the martyrs have 
trod— 

Lead on, thou fair child, to the temple of God ! " 

The child stood in silence and wonder, 

Then bowed down her beautiful head, 

And even as fragrance is shed 
From the lily the waves have swept under, 

She meekly and tenderly said — 

So simply and truthfully said : 
"In vain do ye seek to behold Him; 

He dwells in no temple apart ; 
The height of the Heavens cannot hold him, 

And yet he is here in my heart — 

He is here, and he will not depart." 

Then out from the mystical splendor, 
The swift-changing, crystalline light, 
The rainbow-hued, scintillant light. 

Gleamed faces more touching and tender 



THE KINGDOM. 123 

Than ever had greeted our sight — 

Our sin-blinded, death-darkened sight; 
And they sang : " Welcome home to the Kingdom, 

Ye earth-born and sei-pent-beguiled ; 
The Lord is the light of this Kingdom, 

And His temple the heart of a child — 

Of a trustful and teachable child, 
Ye are born to the life of the Kingdom — 

Receive, and believe, as a child." 



124 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE CRADLE OR COFFIN. 

[Given under the inspiration of Poe.] 

The Cradle or Coffin, the robe or the shroud, 

Of which shall a mortal most truly be proud ? 
The cradle rocks light as a boat on the billow, 
The child lies asleep on his soft, downy pillow, 

And the mother sits near with her love-lighted 
eyes, — 
Sits watching her treasure, and dreamily singing, 
While the cradle keeps time, like a pendulum 
swinging. 

And notes every moment of bliss as it flies. 

Lullaby baby — watch o'er his rest ! 

The dear little fledgling asleep in his nest. 
How blest is that slumber — how calm he reposes, 
With his sweet, pouting lips, and his cheeks flushed 
with roses ! 



THE CRADLE OR COFFIN. 125 

O, God of the Innocent, woukl it might Last ! 
But know, thou fond mother, beyond tliy perceiving, 
The Parcae are near him, and steadily weaving 

The meshes of Fate which around him they cast! 

Lullaby baby — let him not wake! 

Soon shall the bubble of infancy break ; 
Life, with its terrors and fears, shall surround him, 
Evil and Good with strange problems confound 
him. 

And, as the charmed bird to the serpent is drawn. 
The demons of liell, from his proudest position. 
Shall drag down his soul to the depths of perdi- 
tion, 

Till he bitterly curses the day he was born! 

The Cradle or Coffin, the blanket or pall — 
O, which brings a blessing of peace unto all ? 
How still is the Coffin! No undulant motion; 
Becalmed like a boat on the breast of the ocean. 
And there lies the child, with his half-curtained 
eyes. 
While his mother stands near him, her love-watch 
still keeping, 

11* 



126 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

And kisses his pale lips with wailing and weeping, 
Till her anguish is dumb, or can speak but in 
sighs. 

He needs not a lullaby now for his rest ; 
The fledgling has fluttered, and flown from his 
nest. 
He starts not, he breathes not, he knows no awak- 
ing, 
Though sad eyes are weeping and fond hearts are 
breaking. 
O, God of all mercy, how strange are thy ways! 
Yet know, thou fond mother, beyond thy per- 
ceiving. 
The angels who took him are tenderly weaving 
His vestments of beauty, his garments of praise. 

O, call him not back to earth's weariness now, 
For blossoms unfading encircle his brow; 
From glory to glory forever ascending. 
His soul with the soul of the Infinite blending, 
. Great luminous truths on his being shall dawn. 
With no doubts to distract him, or stay his en- 
deavor, 



THE CRADLE OR COFFIN. 127 

He shall bless in liis progress, forever and ever, 
The day that his soul to the Kingdom was born. 

The Cradle or Coffin, the robe or the shroud. 
Of which shall a mortal most truly be proud ? 
The Cradle or Coffin, the blanket or pall, 
O, which brings a blessing of peace unto all ? 
The Cradle or Coffin, both places of rest — 
Tell us, O mortals, which like ye the best? 



128 ■ POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



THE STREETS OF BALTIMOKE. 

" Edgar A. Poe. — As the circumstances attendant upon the death 
of Poe are not generally known, it may be well to present the facts 
in connection with the following^ poem. Having occasion to pass 
through Baltimore a few days before his intended marriage with a 
lady of family and fortune in Virginia, Poe met with some of his old 
associates, who induced him to drink with them, although, as we are 
informed, he had entirely abstained for a year. This aroused the appe- 
tite which had so long slumbered within him, and in a short time he 
wandered forth into the street in a state of drunken delirium, and was 
found next morning literally dying from exposure. He was taken to 
a hospital, and on the 7th of October^ 1849, at the age of thirty-eight, 
he closed his troubled life. The tortures and terrors of that night of 
Buffering are vividly portrayed in the following poem, composed in 
spirit-life, and given by him through the mediumship of Miss Lizzie 
Doten, at the conclusion of her lecture in Baltimore, on Sunday even- 
ing, January 11, 1863." — Banner of Light. 

Woman weak, and woman mortal, 
Through thy spirit's open portal, 
I would read the Runic record 
Of mine earthly being o'er — 
I would feel that fire returning, 
Which within my soul was burning, 



THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE. 129 

When my star was quenched in darkness, 
Set, to rise on earth no more, 

When I sank beneath hfe's burden 
In the streets of Baltimore ! 

O, those memories, sore and saddening! 
O, that night of anguish maddening! 

When my lone heart suffered shipwreck 
On a demon-haunted shore — 
When the fiends grew wild with laughter, 
And the silence following after. 
Was more awful and appalling 

Than the cannons deadly roar — 
Than the traraj) of mighty armies 
Through the streets of Baltimore ! 

Like a fiery serpent coiling, 
Like a Maelstrom madly boiling, 
Did this Phlegethon of fury 

Sweep my shuddering spirit o'er! 
Rushing onward, blindly reeling. 
Tortured by intensest feeling — 

Like Prometheus, when the vultures 
Through his quivering vitals tore — 



130 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Swift I fled from death and darkness, 
Through the streets of Baltimore ! 

No one near to save or love me! 
No kind face to watch above me ! 

Though I heard the sound of footsteps, 
Like the waves upon the shore, 
Beating, beating, beating, beating! 
Now advancing, now retreating — 
With a dull and dreamy rhythm — 

With a long, continuous roar — 
Heard the sound of human footsteps. 
In the streets of Baltimore ! 

There at length they found me lying, 
Weak and 'wildered, sick and dying, 
And my shattered wreck of being 
To a kindly refuge bore ! 
But my woe was past enduring. 
And my soul cast off* its mooring, 
Crying, as I floated outward, 

"I am of the earth no more! 
I have forfeited life's blessing 
In the streets of Baltimore I " 



THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE. 131 

Where wast thou, O Power Eternal! 
"When the fiery fiend, infernal, 
Beat nie with his burning fasces, 
Till I sank to rise no more? 
O, was all my life-long error 
Crowded in that night of terror ? 
Did my sin find expiation. 

Which to judgment went before, 
Summoned to a dread tribunal, 
In the streets of Baltimore ? 

Nay, with deep, delirious pleasure, 
I had drained my life's full measure, 
Till tlie fatiil, fiery serpent. 
Fed upon my being's core! 
Then with force and fire volcanic, 
Summoning a strength Titanic, 

Did I burst the bonds that bound me — 

Battered down my being's door; 
Fled, and left my shattered dwelling 
To the dust of Baltimore! 

Gazing back without lamenting, 
With no sorrowful repenting, 



132 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

I can read my life's sad story 
In a light unknown before! 
For there is no woe so dismal, 
Not an evil so abysmal, 

But a rainbow arch of glory 

Spans the yawning chasm o'er ! 
And across that Bridge of Beauty 
Did I pass from Baltimore ! 

In that grand, Eternal City, 
Where the angel-hearts take pity 
On the sin which men forgive not, 
Or inactively deplore. 
Earth has lost the i)ower to harm me ! 
Death can never more alarm me, 
And I drink fresh inspiration 

From the Source which I adore — 
Through my Spirit's apotheosis — 
That new birth in Baltimore ! 

"Now no longer sadly yearning — 
Love for love finds sweet returning — 
And there comes no ghostly raven, 
Tapping at my chamber door! 



THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE. 133 

Calmly, in the golden glory, 
I can sit and read life's story. 

For my soul from out that shadow 

Ilath been lifted evermore — 
From that deep and dismal shadow, 
In the streets of Baltimore! 
12 



134 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



[As the following lecture is, in a certain sense, an introduction to 
Poe's " Farewell to Earth," it has been considered advisable to publish 
it in connection with the poem.] 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 

A LECTURE DELIVERED BY MISS LIZZIE DOTEN, AT 
CLINTON HALL, MONDAY, P. M., NOV. 2, 1863. 

[Phonographically reported by Robert S. Moore.] 

For several reasons, we must be as brief and com- 
prehensive as possible in our remarks to-night. We 
do not intend to make any great intellectual effort, 
or to endeavor to astonish you with lofty strains of 
eloquence. We simply desire to present to you 
a few facts in connection vvitli tlie poem about 
to be given, and we do this under the distinctive 
title of our discourse, — The Mysteries of Godli- 
ness. 

As Godliness was a mystery in the past, so is it 
in the present. And why is it a mystery? Because 
men understand so little of the practice of Godliness. 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 135 

Socrates was accustomed to say that " a man was 
always sufficiently eloquent in that which he clearly 
understood;" and thus a man will not look upon 
that as a mystery Avhich is a part of his daily life, 
and with which he has become familiar through ex- 
perience. But as it was in the days when Jesus 
lived and taught, or when Paul wrote his Epistle to 
Timothy, so Godliness, to the great mass of minds, 
remains a mystery. When Paul penned those 
words, — " Without controversy, great is the mys- 
tery of Godliness : God was manifest in the flesh, 
justified in the spirit, seen of angels, preached unto 
the Gentiles, believed on in the world, and received 
up into glory," — he referred particularly to the life 
and teachings of Jesus. We, however, give to the 
passage a more comprehensive and extended appli- 
cation. If the "Mystery of Godliness" was made 
manifest in the life of .Jesus because of his divinity, 
tlien do we say to the men of the present day, 
"Beloved, now are ye also sons of God." And if 
" the Word was made flesh, and dwelt in the midst 
of men," in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, so that 
same Word is incarnated, in greater or less degree, 
in every human being, be he rich or poor, black or 



lob POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

white, bond or free. In the same way, also, every 
one possessing a living soul is a manifestation of 
the mystery of Godhness. And when a man goes 
into his own nature, when he understands himself, 
when he reads the mysteries of his own being, when 
he looks away from his positive and earthly neces- 
sities up to liis Divine possibilities, and sees how vast 
is the range, how infinite his capabilities, then he 
begins to understand something of the mysteries of 
Godliness. The Church has used this phraseology 
in the past, and knew not what it meant. She had 
" the form of Godliness," and yet in word and deed, 
ay, in very thought, she " denied the power thereof." 
Therefore it has been, in all past time, when there 
were some true and sincere souls in the Church, 
who made manifest, both by profession and practice, 
that in i)art at least, they comprehended the mystery 
of Godliness, which is the highest spirituality, — not 
Spiritualism, — and let it flow out into the beauty 
and harmony of })erfcct lives, the Church looked at 
them with a doubtful countenance. There was such 
a thing as being too holy, and the Church felt that 
such lives were a reproach to her self-righteousness 
and hypocrisy. She was not familiar with the man- 



THE MYSTERIES OP GODLINESS. 137 

ifestation of true Godliness, and consequently 
looked upon it as something that threatened her 
internal peace, and the success of her stereotyped 
plan of salvation. Therefore it was, that the voice 
of condemnation was raised against Michael De 
Mohnos, Fenelon, Madame Guyon, and the whole 
host of Quietists and Reformers. By dim forecast- 
ings of the soul, and heroic struggling with flesh 
and sense, they had learned something of that holy 
mystery. It was that which could not be translated 
into human language. It could not be written in 
books, but it was that which was to be felt in the 
soul, and made manifest in the life. Godliness, true 
spirituality, cannot find expression in words, and so 
it must of necessity manifest its Divine beauty in 
the life. 

But what is the idea we intend to convey when 
we use the term "Godliness"? Who is God, from 
whose name this word is simply a derivative ? God- 
liness is the manifestation of his spirit and power 
in the soul of man, yet it is not God. Who, then, 
is He ! We must look into the lexicon of every 
human heart to find our reply ; for each one wor- 
ships his own Ideal of Deity according to the rer- 
12 * 



^ 



138 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

elation of Truth which he receives, and to the ca- 
pacity of his spirit to comprehend. The old phi- 
losophers sought for God in all the external world ; 
they also went down into the mysteries of tlie 
spirit, as far as philosophy could sound its mighty 
depths, and yet they could not fathom his infinite 
nature. Although form and an external are neces- 
sary to man as a completion of his idea, yet when 
he reasons deeply concerning Deity, he cannot arrive 
at any satisfactory conclusions concerning his person- 
ality; he can only worship him as a principle, as a 
presence, and a power. Man, in his insignificance, 
can only look up to that superior Intelligence, which 
manifests itself throughout Nature, and worship 
either in the silence of the heart or in the inade- 
quate articulations of human speech. The finite 
never did as yet compass and comprehend the In- 
finite. And before that majestic question wdiich all 
the Ages have sought in vain to answer, before that 
mighty Oracle Avhose essence and nature have never 
been understood, man might as well remain dumb. 
But where, you ask, shall man find his highest 
manifestation of Deity ? How shall he know and 
understand God, so that he may attain unto the 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 139 

true mystery of Godliness ? The most of God that 
you can know is through your own souls. Your 
neighbor may speak unto you of tlie influences 
■which flow in upon him from the great Soul of all ; 
you can only listen, but cannot comprehend, unless 
there is something of the same spirit — of the same 
Divine life within you. But as you grow in good- 
ness and spirituality, you comprehend more clearly 
the truth which Jesus, the greatest Medium the 
world ever knew, spoke to the ears of men, when 
he said, "God is a Spirit, and they that worship him 
must worship him in spirit and in truth." There- 
fore our definition of Godliness is spirituality, the 
influence of God felt in the soul and made manifest 
in the life of man. Just in proportion as this prin- 
ciple or power is realized in the hearts of men, 
they approach nearer unto Deity; they see more of 
his perfect life ; they understand more of his ways ; 
they leave speculations concerning his personality, 
and go away to those great generalizations whereby 
a man's soul grows comprehensive and universal in 
its sympathies, and beholds the operations of the 
Infinite mind in all things. Thus, as Jesus was a 
manifestation of that Godliness or spirituality, the 



140 POEMS FROxM THE INNER LIFE. 

self-same Divine power — the "Divine in the human" 
is manifest in every sentient being. 

And here we ajoproach a mighty truth, in whose 
majestic presence we feel inclined to lay aside our 
dusty sandals; for the place whereon we stand 
seems holy ground. While studying the mysteries 
of our own being, we find that necessarily we 
worship Everlasting Truth, in whatever form it may 
be presented. We go away from limitations, we 
go away from sects and creeds, from tottering in- 
stitutions and the musty theologies of the past, and 
stand face to fiice with that fresher revelation of 
Deity in the heart. Then it is that man feels 
there are primary and fundamental truths lying at 
the basis of all philosoj^hy and all religion, and only 
as he builds upon these broad foundations can he 
rear a glorious superstructure against which all the 
winds of changing theories, and the descending 
floods of mere speculative philosophy, will not be 
able to prevail. As man, like one initiated into the 
mysteries of Masonry, enters into this lodge of free- 
dom, he begins to believe in himself. No man can 
have fiith in God who has no foith in himself; that 
is the first step towards the Divine. You take that 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 141 

step in the secret of the soul when you first ac- 
knowledge the "Divine in the human," and confess 
its supporting influence. 

For instance, two men may be standing on the 
borders of a precipice : below, there is the deep 
ravine ; opposite, the other side of the mountain. 
They look far down and see rough, ragged points 
of rocks, and far, fir below, the floods boiling white 
with foam. Over this abyss there is but one slight, 
frail bridge, and that is the trunk of a single tree. 
One man says, " Since we must pass over, I will 
precede. I know that I can go ; I icill go." That 
man has faith in himself. He plants his feet firmly ; 
he looks upward, and passes safely over. The second 
says, "I do not believe that I can go; I fear I shall 
f&ll." He totters on, trembling, until he reaches the 
middle, and then cries out, "O Lord, Lord, help 
me ! " So surely as he utters that cry, faithless in 
his own power, that man must fall. 

And thus it is with human souls. They are 
standing here, in earthly life, gazing across the great 
abyss of the Future. It is dark and terrible below. 
They cannot clearly understand what fate awaits 
them, but they see the strait and narrow way before 



142 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

them. If a man plants bis feet firmly, and says, 
"I can, and I will," it is the greatest possible ac- 
knowledgement of bis faith in God. That man 
has stepped upon the threshold of the mysteries 
of Godliness ; those mysteries will be made clearer 
and more apparent to his soul as he advances. But 
if, with craven soul, he says, "I know not what to 
do. I will wait for God's providences, and let them 
come as they may ; for of myself I can do nothing," 
— if he trust to the vicarious atonement and an 
external Deity, and does nothing for his own sal- 
vation, — if, in making oral prayers to the Lord of 
the Universe, he forgets to " worship God in spirit," 
and loses the vitalizing consciousness of the Divine 
within his own being, that man will assuredly err ; 
he will continually go astray, for externally he has 
" the form of Godliness," but practically and inter- 
nally he denies "the power thereof." 

The world to-day is standing, in a certain sense, 
in that same position. Men are lifting up their 
hands, and crying, "Lord, Lord!" believing that 
they shall thus enter into the kingdom, while 
within their own beings there is a broad region of 
spiritual mysteries unknown and unexplored. Here 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 143 

and there are instances where souls, driven by the 
action of their own importunate reason, — ay, we 
may say, by simple common sense, — have turned 
aside from creeds and theories, and have inquired 
earnestly of Nature and of the God within. It is 
refreshing at times to find such a soul : one that 
believes in the inspiration of the living Word, incar- 
nated in all flesh, and made apparent throughout 
the universe, — not a Pantheist, believing in the 
manifestation of Deity in Nature alone, and in 
nothing higher, but realizing that the creation is 
the perceptible and external revelation of Deity; 
believing, with the German philosopher Fichte, that' 
"there is a Divine Idea pervading tliis visible uni- 
verse ; which visible universe is indeed but its 
symbol and sensible manifestation, having in itself 
no meaning, or even true existence, independent 
of it. To the mass of men this Divine Idea lies 
hidden ; yet, to discern it, to seize it, and live 
wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, 
knowledge, freedom, and the end, therefore, of all 
spiritual effort in every age." He wlio lives and 
dwells in this Idea, enters into the mysteries of 
Godliness. All divine things are exceedingly sim- 



144 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

pie when they are known. It is because men are 
looking too high that they do not receive the 
living inspirations of the Truth ; they turn away 
from themselves, and neglect to observe the mani- 
festation of the spirit within their own being. 
They look upon their brother man or sister woman, 
and forget to exercise that broad charity which sees 
the spirit struggling with the flesh, or feebly breast- 
ing the wild waves of a tempestuous life, simply 
because it was tluis constituted and surrounded. 
Men commonly judge from their own individual 
stand-point, instead of going away back to the Di- 
yinity of the inner life, and from its pure eyes 
lookinoj into the heart of their errinsj brother or 
sister. He who simply criticizes the man, and 
judges him by the limitations of his own life, errs 
greatly. But he who looks beyond and behind 
him, sees that there are truths, and principles, and 
powers, and loving, earnest spirits, who are en- 
deavoring to make manifest their inspiration through 
him; and although he may be changeable in his 
nature, although he may be erratic and wandering, 
it is only through the excess of power that cannot 
find an appropriate manifestation through such an 
organization. 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 145 

And such a one was lie of whom we speak to- 
niglit, — that erratic genius, Edgak A. Poe. The 
mysteries of Godliness, — not of morality, as the 
world understands it, — confounded him. He could 
see more clearly than most of men. He looked 
out into the vast arcana of Nature, and his soul 
trembled before the majestic revelation. He knew 
not how to express, in any adequate form of speech, 
those great and mighty thoughts which rose and 
shone, like stars of wondrous beauty, in his soul ; 
he knew not how to give his burning inspirations 
a manifestation through his life and being. 

Edgar A. Poe Avas a medium. " A medium ! " 
you say. " He himself would scorn the name ; and 
w^e, who knew him, deny it." But of what was he 
a medium? We do not confine ourselves to that 
definition of the term given by modern Spiritual- 
ists. He was a medium for the general inspiration 
which sets like a current of living fire tlirough the 
universe. No special, no individual spirit wrought 
directly upon him, but he felt the might and majes- 
ty of occult forces from the world of causes, and 
trembled beneath their influence. He was a me- 
dium, not to disembodied spirits, only so far as 
13 



146 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

mind acts upon mind by the great law of unity, 
and in the same way was he psychologically affected 
by spirits in the body. He had a peculiarly sensi- 
tive and impressible nature, and in the mysteries 
of a spirituality wliich he did not seek to compre- 
hend, he was easily wrought upon by the minds 
around him. Not but what he possessed self-will; 
not, indeed, that he lacked that firmness, whereby, 
when his soul was aroused, he could repel such influ- 
ences. But liis nature was so finely strung that 
every harsh word, every unkindly discorrl, grated 
and thrilled through his entire being, so that often- 
times it would seem as though he would beat down 
the wall of clay to give his spirit freedom, and to 
escape forever from the inharmonious influences of 
the world, — from the presence of those by whom 
he was so little understood. 

It is difiicult to comprehend such natures, for 
they are not common. But, alas for such ! They 
have no choice but to be denizens of this w^orld, and 
all the rough, sharp angles of rude Humanity seem 
continually to wound and irritate their sensitive- 
ness, torturing them almost to madness. And yet 
there is a deep, strong under-current to their lives. 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 147 

There is a beautiful spirituality which leads men 
to perceive that there is a power in the universe 
w^hich balances all these inequalities and apparent 
inharmonies of human beings ; and so, although 
they are set at variance w^ith the world in certain 
portions of their nature, yet they are rewarded in 
others. Edgar A. Poe possessed the power of 
retiring from external things into the mysteries of 
the spirit. The greatest authors and musical com- 
posers the w^orld ever knew^, were those whose 
favorite pursuit so completely absorbed them that 
all external things were excluded, and they forgot, 
while their inspirations were upon them, what 
manner of men they were, — forgot the necessities 
of the flesh, and all the surroundings of their daily 
lives. Such men could understand our meaning, 
when we say that Edgar A. Poe lived much in 
his inner life, and there, as in the experience 
of the soul-rapt and inspired Boehmen, glorious 
revelations of the sublime and the beautiful were 
made manifest unto him. The common forms of 
human speech were inadequate for expression ; 
therefore he seized upon the secret harmony of 
words, and strung them like flashing gems on the 



148 POEMS FKOM THE INNER LIFE. 

golden line of his thought, weaving them into wild, 
strange metaphors, oftentimes so bewildering and 
dazzling, that the common mind could only feel 
the charm without comprehending the mystery. 
Like Ezekiel in his vision, he beheld the wondrous 
"living creatures, and the wheels," and as they 
were represented, so did he describe them; but 
the mind of the reader must be in a similar state 
of illumination in order to clearly understand his 
meaning. There were seasons when he seemed to 
enter into a peaceful alliance with earth and all 
harmonious and beautiful things. Yet when his 
peculiarly sensitive nature was startled and aroused, 
he turned back to this Valhalla of his soul, and 
there he found another element of peace, — a 
strange, paradoxical peace, which comes through 
the herculean efforts of the soul to clamber up the 
rugged heights of destiny, — such peace as is 
given unto souls, when the angel, with a flaming 
sword, drives them from the Eden places of this 
world back into the mysteries of their being, in 
order that from their bloody sweat and bitter 
agony they may wring out great songs of moving 
inspiration, and reveal to mankind generally the 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 149 

wondrous world of ideas and causes which lies 
beyond the limits of sense and the range of ex- 
ternal observation. 

All such are men of Destiny. They are com- 
pelled over the ways which they tread. The world 
looks upon them, and cannot understand them ; 
men consider them as anomalies and strange incon- 
sistencies ; as abnormal manifestations of the spirit. 
Yet "for this cause came they into the world;" 
and as poets, and artists, and musical composers 
are born with the undeveloped elements of their 
genius within them, so particular souls, in close con- 
nection with the spiritual world, who are contin- 
ually receiving direct impressions and revelations 
from the sphere of causes, are born such from their 
cradle ; and thus the mystery of spirituality or god- 
liness, as the world passes on generation after gen- 
eration, is becoming more and more apparent in 
the lives and experiences of men. When we speak 
of spirituality, do not consider that we mean mod- 
ern Spiritualism, as understood by the world, which 
has furnished any amount of sheep's clothing to the 
wolves who desire to prey upon the lambs in the 
unguarded fold of Humanity. Neither do we mean 
13* 



150 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

that inflated spirituality, which, in its zeal for re- 
form, and contempt for ceremonies and limitations, 
rushes to extremes, and, deceiving itself, "uses its 
liberty as an occasion to the flesh." But we do 
mean that living principle, which makes itself man- 
ifest in high-toned souls, whose sublime aspirations 
exalt the whole life above the common level of 
Humanity. It may come out as a fitful and glim- 
mering light, but it shows that the Divine inspira- 
tion is there, and all men, when they j^erceive it, 
are ready to acknowledge it as genuine. Whatever 
is truly good, glorious, or divine, that which pos- 
sesses in itself real merit and inspiration, cannot 
fail to find a responsive echo. And thus was it 
with the writings of Poe. When, from the glowing 
fire-crypts of his soul, he wrought out, with master 
strokes, his " Raven," and gave it to the world, 
men felt that there was the ring of true genius. 
And, although it was the utterance of a nature at 
variance with its earthy surroundings, and tortured 
by its own sensibility, yet because of its gloomy 
grandeur and euphonious rhythm, the poem could 
not fail to be appreciated. 

Such natures cannot live long in the flesh. They 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 151 

are like two-edged swords, which wear upon the 
scabbard. There is ever an unseen hand upon tlie 
hilt, and finally, when the word of command is 
given, the sword is drawn, and becomes a most 
effective instrument in the hand of Everlasting 
Truth ; then the individual nature that has so long 
battled the stormy elements of mortal life first per- 
ceives its advantages, and in the triumphant exulta-. 
tion which spirits always feel when freed from the 
fetters of mortality, it exclaims, " O Death ! where 
is thy sting ? O Grave ! where is thy victory ? " 
That diviner spirituality which was obscured by 
the flesh, which was crushed down by earthly cir- 
cumstances, at length frees itself, and starts up 
in all its majesty and glory. But the mysterious 
growth and development of the spirit does not 
end here. 

Perhaps in this connection we may present to 
you certain points from which you will feel obliged 
to dissent. They .may seem like vague theories 
and wild speculations, yet they are truths which 
you are yet to realize in your eternal experience, 
— truths which this one of whom we speak will 
present to you in repetition to-night. 



152 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

There is a power in man which is closely con- 
nected with the things of external life, and draws 
inspiration from nature and the associations of 
his fellow-men. There is a power, also, in every 
human being superior to the spirit, and that is 
the soul, or innermost life — which is a divine 
and indestructible principle. When, therefore, the 
garment of flesh is laid aside, — when the mortal 
puts on its immortality, — the spirit goes forth pre- 
cisely as it is. If it has been under the influence 
of ungoverned passion ; if it has striven, through 
mad ambition, to attain to some cherished ideal, still 
does it feel that impetus, and its earthly longings 
and aspirations must pass away through a gradual 
transformation. You may dissent from this, but 
the change of the earthly garment does not effect 
a radical change in the spirit. And thus, as the 
spirit of Edgar A. Poe started forth on its celestial 
journey, all that bound him to eartli still held a 
certain degree of influence over him. "Life is 
one eternal progress," and only by progression 
and the gradual development of his nobler nature 
could he outlive that bondage. In many respects 
he had loved life and the things of earth. In 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 153 

his intercourse with men he could not free hina- 
self from " the sins which did so easily beset him." 
Neither could he restrain that sensitiveness and 
irritability of nature which so often destroyed the 
peace of his outer and inner life, and therefore 
he must necessarily outgrow that in higher c6n- 
ditions, and under more favorable influences, A9 
he gradually attained to a sublimer consciousness 
of the beautiful and true, much of the wild and 
fitful fire peculiar to his genius departed from 
him, and there came in its stead a majestic flow 
of inspiration, solemn and grand as the music of 
the spheres. He saw that there were harmonious 
relations awaiting him ; and as his soul was rich 
in sympathy and love, he aspired to those con- 
ditions, and he could not rest until he had attained 
unto them. The hinderance to his perfect peace 
was in his own spirit, and he realized it. It was 
for him the commencement of a mighty struggle, — 

" "When the golden bowl, — life's token, — 
Into shining shards was broken." 

It would seem, then, as though conscious of his 
strength, he stood up like a spiritual giant, ex» 



154 POEMS FROM THE IxXNEK LIFE. 

claiming, " I am free ! At last I am free ! " There 
was a complete expansion of bis being as he 
drank in the celestial air. He could not clearly 
understand the mysteries by which he was sur- 
rounded, but he knew that there was a latent energy 
in his soul, which, being more fully developed, 
would wrestle with these mighty problems until 
he made the solution his own. As year after 
year, marking great and important changes in hu- 
man experience, rolled on, men who remembered 
Poe as he Avas, said, " Now he rests from life's 
labor ; now he sins and sorrows no more." 

But they did not know upon what a mighty 
battle-field he stood, neither could they under- 
stand through what fires of purification he was 
passing. But there he stood, contending bravely, 
not once losing fiith in his soul's possibilities, and 
pressing earnestly forward to tlie desired consum- 
mation. And in this he was not alone. O, no! 
There was with him a whole host of moral heroes, 
who, conscious of their power to win the victory, and 
quickened by the inspirations which they received 
from that higher state of being, were striving, by 
the excelsior movement of the soul, to attain to 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 155 

those glory-encircled heights from whence they 
could look calmly down upon the plane of their 
earthly existence. 

Thus it was that, as they gradually arose higher 
and higher in the scale of being, he and they 
could perceive that all sin, and sorrow, and evil 
ended at length in blessing, and that truths, which 
were dim and indistinct, which seemed aught but 
truths, came out into clear and shining light, and 
in their heavens were stars of the first magni- 
tude. Thus, also, as he toiled on he became versed 
in the mysteries of the spirit, not in mere moralities 
— for true religion, godUness or spirituality, is the 
full, free, and complete development of man's entire 
being, both in the intellectual and moral. Science 
and literature, art and religion, have been sepa- 
rated by mankind, because they did not understand 
the true mystery of Godliness. 

But in that higher life one of the first lessons 
taught to the soul is, that all things have their uses. 
Even the low, animal passions, leading man into 
error, into sin, sensuality, and evil, will thereby 
teach him lessons of wisdom ; will teach him to 
avoid the false and the untrue, and also that there 



156 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

were rocks and quicksands upon which his bark had 
almost foundered, and which in the future he must 
avoid. Whether it be these lower passions, or the 
intellectual and moral, still each must have its own 
appropriate manife&tation. 

And as all these capacities for growth and percep- 
tion belong not to the body but to the spirit, so the 
spirit, sweeping aAvay into the great Eternity, bears 
up all these powers of its wondrous mechanism with 
it, and the vision of Ezekiel is realized; for "the 
living creature being lifted up, the wheels are lifted 
up also." 

Each organ of the brain lias its own magnetic cir 
cle, touching the one upon another like the mechan- 
ism of a watch, and all governed by the main- 
spring, which is the internal consciousness of man, 
the central power of his being. Tliis order in the 
change from the mortal to the immortal is not lost, 
but finds a more harmonious surrounding. Thus, 
when the spirit has ascended, with its increased 
power, with its superior opportunities for observation 
and investigation of all the truths of the universe, 
it learns this most important truth, — that not in one 
direction, but in all, the spirit shall find its most free 
and perfect development. 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 157 

Thus having become familiar with the conditions 
of the higher life, the one of whom we speak real- 
ized that it was not in the poetic element of his 
being alone that he was to find insj^iration, not in 
smooth flowing numbers or cunning arrangements 
of human speecli, but in tlie grand harmony of the 
living whole — the perfect accord of his entire 
being. It was necessary, in passing forth from the 
flesh, that he should learn this simple lesson. He 
has endeavored by all the j^owers of his nature to 
make its application ; and he has succeeded. This 
night he gives his "Farewell to Earth." Not that 
he is to be divided forever in his interest from 
Humanity, but, no longer incited by restlessness or 
ambition, to exjDress in rhythmic numbers the fiery 
thought within, no longer drawn by the sordid in- 
terests of this earthly life, he can gaze down upon 
this lower w^orld and influence the minds of men, 
and still be above them. He can still minister, as 
an Everlasting Truth and living power, to the needs 
of Humanity; but as Poe, the individual, he is 
willing to be forgotten. His personality, as fiir as 
human recognition is concerned, can end here. He 
cares not that "this poor, paltry me should be spun 
14 



158 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

out into Infinity." He says: "Let my soul speak, 
which is the Divine Power. I have realized in 
myself the mysteries of Godliness, and know now 
that I too am Divine. I have merged and lost 
my will in the Great Will of the universe. I know 
now what lieaven is ; it is beauty, perfection, liar- 
mony. 1 would live forever in that celestial air, 
and draw in the vitalizing influences of truth. I 
do not desire to go down to the lowly homes of 
earth, nor to mingle with men in their contentions 
and selfish interests. I know that there is a Power- 
guarding and guiding all things, and I can trust 
those whom I have loved, or those for whom I have 
cared, in tliat Almighty Hand. Whatever mysteri- 
ous manifestation of wisdom on the part of Divine 
Providence comes to Humanity, I can say now, ' It 
is well ! Let the will of that Power be done ! ' 
I have then no work to perform for you. I liave 
only to carry with me through the vast Eternity 
an open nature, tliat I may receive truths, and, in 
passing onward, transmit them to those who are 
to follow after me." 

Thus it is with all great and earnest souls. 
" The mystery of Godliness," or true spirituality, aa 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 159 

an impelling and inspiring power, is behind them, 
making itself manifest through their being. It also 
stands before them, beckonuig them on the way. 
It may be they liave natures of steel and fire, and 
that a thought electric strikes upon the heart, and 
sits, a mania, on the brain. But still they feel that 
power impelling and persuading, and finally when 
they perceive that the grand current of human 
events is tending towards the great ocean of In^nite 
Truth, they are willing to let their own peculiari- 
ties and characteristic tendencies also flow on in 
the great stream, and so harmony is at length 
established, not only with themselves but all. 

The lesson of Poe's life, in itself, was worth much 
to Humanity. In coming time, others besides our- 
selves will xlissect and analyze his j^eculiar nature, 
and present it, even as we have, to men, as an 
instance of that Spirit which was " made manifest 
in the flesh, which was seen of angels, was preached 
by inspired lips to Humanity, believed on in the 
world, and received up into glory." Great, indeed, 
is the mystery of Godliness! great in the light of the 
human lives that come and go upon the broad arena 
of earthly existence. Great, also, is that mystery ai 



160 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

made manifest in those spirits who go forth from the 
flesh, and feeling the Divine inspiration etirring 
witliin them, seek for life, — Eternal Life, — in order 
that they may grow and expand to the fulness of 
their spiritual being, having within themselves a 
quenchless thirst for the harmonious and the beau- 
tiful. They are true to the great law of spirit, for 
whether in Time or Eternity, it may still be said 
that, — 

•' Within the heart of man there is a constant yearning 

For something higher, holier, unattained, — 
Upward and onward, from the present turning, 

Yet resting never when a point is gained. 
Some unseen spirit evermore the soul is urging 

Through childish Aveakness and ambitious youth ; 
And day by day all souls are still converging 

Nearer and nearer to the Central Source of Truth. 
Youth cuts a foothold in the Rock of Ages ; 

The hope of Fame and Glory lures him on his way, 
And, pondering o'er the works of ancient sages, 

He catches glimpses of a brighter day. 
Alas ! but toilsome is the way, and dreary, 

To him who has no high and holy aim. 
And, pausing on Life's threshold, sad and weary, 

He casts away the laurel wreath of Fame." * 

Thus was it with Poe. Not clearly discerning 

* These lines, with those at the close of the lecture, are quoted from 
one of my written poems. 



; 



THE MYSTERIES OF GODLINESS. 161 

the purposes of life, he did not bend his efforts to 
one high and holy aim. His nature was wandering 
and erratic. This is also his present view of his 
earthly life. " He has cast away his laurel wreath 
of fame," and now upon his brow, burning brightly 
with the glories of the celestial sphere, is an olive 
wreath of peace. He -stands now as a majestic 
soul, self-poised and harmonious. Yet he has not 
lost aught of the brilliancy and fire of his genius. 

Edgar A. Poe Avas mighty in the flesh; and in the 
spirit he is mightier fir. His manifestations will yet 
come to mankind, but not as from the individual. 
They will speak to your souls; they will breathe in 
words of fire from the lips of Humanity, as inspira- 
tions from the Higher Life, rather than as the utter- 
ances of him who was once known among men as 
Edgar A. Poe. 

«' O, ever thus have Earth's most noble-hearted 

Gone calmly upward to their place above ! 
And when their footsteps from the earth departed, 

Have left their works of genius or of love. 
For Aspiration is the moral lever, raising 

The earnest spirit to its destined height ; 
But Inspiration only comes from gazing 

Upon the perfect Source of Life and Light ! " 

14* 



162 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 

[The following poem purports to be Poe's final farewell to Earth. 
It was given in the city of New York, Monday evening, Nov. 2, 1803.] 

I. 

Fakewell ! Farewell ! 
Like the music of a bell 
Floating downward to the dell — 
Downward from some Alpine height, 
While the smiset-embers bright, 
Fade upon the hearth of night ; 
So my spirit, voiceless — breathless, — 
Indestructible and deathless, 
From the heights of Life Elysian gives to Earth 
my parting song ; 
Downward through the star-lit spaces, 
Unto Earth's most lowly places, 
Like the sun-born strains of Memnon, let the music 
float along. 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 163 

With a wild and wayward rhythm, with a move- 
ment deep and strong. 

" Come up higlier ! " cry the angels. — This must 
be my parting song. 

Eartli ! O Earth ! thou art my Mother. 
Mortal man ! thou art my Brother. 
We have shared a mutual sorrow, we have known 
a common birth ; 
Yet with all my soul's endeavor, 
I will sunder, and forever, 
Every tie of human passion that can bind my soul 

to Earth — 
Every slavish tie that binds me to the things of 

little worth. 
" Come up higher ! " cry the angels : " come ! and 
bid farewell to Earth." 

I would bear a love Platonic to the souls in 
earthly life ; 

I would give a sign Masonic to the heroes in the 
strife ; 

I have been their fellow-craftsman, boimd appren- 
tice to that Art, 

Whereby Life, that cunning draughtsman, builds 
his temple in the heart. 



164 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

But with Earth no longer mated, I have passed 

the First Degree ; 
I have been initiated to the second mystery. 
O, its high and holy meaning not one soul shall 

fail to see ! 
Now, with loftiest aspirations, onward through the 

worlds I march. 
Through the countless constellations, upward to the 

Royal Arch. 
" Come up higher ! " cry the angels : " come up to 

the Royal Arch." 

II. 

Farewell ! Farewell ! 
Like the tolling of a bell. 
Sounding forth some funeral knell, — 
Tolling with a sad refrain, 
Not for those who rest from pain, 
But for those who still remain ; 
So sweet pathos would I borrow 
From the loving lips of Sorrow, 
Weaving in a plaintive minor with the cadence 
of my song, 
For the souls that lonely languish, 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 165 

For the hearts that break with anguish, 
For the weak ones and the tempted, who must 

sin and suffer long ; 
For the hosts of living martyrs, groaning 'neath 

some ancient wrong ; 
For the cowards and the cravens, who in guilt 
alone are strong. 
But from all Earth's woe and sadness, 
All its folly and its madness, 
I would never strive to save you, or avert the 
evil blow ; 
Even if I would, I could not. 
Even if I could, I would not 
Turn the course of Time's great river, in its grand, 

majestic flow ; 
Grapple with those mighty causes whose results I 

may not know : 
AH Life's sorrows end in blessing, as the future yet 
shall show. 

From Life's overflowing beaker I have drained the 

bitter draught, 
Changing to a maddening ichor in my being as I 

quaffed. 



166 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

I have felt the hot blood rushing o'er its red and 

rameous path, 
Like the molten lava, gushing in its wild, volcanic 

wrath ; 
Like a bubbling, boiling Geyser, in the regions of 

the pole ; 
Like a Scylla or Charybdis, threatening to ingulf 

my soul. 
O, for all such fire-wrought natures let my rhythmic 

numbers toll ! 
Vulnerable, like Achilles, only in one fatal part, 
I was wounded, by Life's arrows, in the head, but 

not the heart. 
" Come up higher ! " cried the angels ; — and I has- 
tened to depart. 

III. 

Farewell ! farewell ! 

Like a merry marriage-bell. 

Pealing with a tuneful swell, 
Telling, in a joyful strain, 
With a whispered, sweet refrain, 
Of the hearts no longer twain ; 

So no longer cursed and fated, 

Fondly loved and truly mated, 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 167 

I can pour my inspirations, free as Orpheus, 
througli my strain. 
Gifted with a sense of seeing 
Far beyond my earthly being, 
I can feel I have not suifered, loved, and hoped, 

and feared in vain ; 
Every earthly sin and sorrow I can only count as 

gain : 
I can chant a grand « Te Deum" o'er the record 
of my pain. 

Ye who grope in darkness blindly. 
Ye who seek a refuge kindly. 
Ye upon whose hearts the ravens — ghostly ravens 
— perch and prey, 
Listen ! for the bells are ringing. 
Tuneful as the angels singing, 
Ringing in the glorious morning of your spirit's 

marriage-day. 
When the soul, no longer fettered to the feeble 

form of clay, 
To a high, harmonious union, soars, elate with hope 
away. 



168 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Where the iris arch of Beauty bridges o'er celestial 
skies, 

Where the golden line of Duty, like a living path- 
way lies, 

Where the gonfalons of Glory float u23on the fra- 
grant air, 

Ye who read Life's lengthening story, find a Royal 
Chapter there. 

Ye shall see how men and nations o'er the ways 
of life advance ; 

Ye shall watch the constellations in their mazy, 
mystic dance; 

And the Central Sun shall greet you — greet you 
with a golden glance. 

O, for souls in Life Eternal let the bells in glad- 
ness ring ! 

Bind the wreath of orange blossoms, and the 
wedding garment bring. 

" Come up higher ! " cry the angels. — Let the bells 
in gladness ring. 

IT. 

Farewell ! Farewell ! 

Like the chiming of the bells, 

Which a tale of triumph tells ; 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 169 

As the news in tuneful notes, 
Leaping from the brazen throats, 
On the startled ether floats; — 
So in freedom, great and glorious, 
Over flesh and sense victorious, 
Does the Spirit leap the barrier which across its 
pathway lies! 
Greater far than royal Coesar, 
Fearless as the northern ^sir. 
Drawn by Love's celestial magnet, winged with 

faith and hope it flies, 
Upward o'er the starry pathway, leading onward 

through the skies. 
To the land of Light and Beauty, where no bud 
of promise dies. 

There, through all the vast Empyrean, 
Wafted, as on gales Hesperian, 
Comes the stirring cry of "Progress"! telling of 
the yet to be. 
Tuneful as a seraph's lyre, 
"Come up higher! Come up higher!" 
Cry the hosts of holy angels; "learn the heavenly 
Masonry : 

15 



170 POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. 

Life is one eternal progress : enter, then, the Third 

Degree ; — 
Ye who long for light and wisdom seek the Inner 

Mystery ! 

Thus, O Sons of Earth, I leave you ! — leave you 

for that higher light ; 
And my charge is now, Receive you all my i;)art- 

ing w^ords aright : 
Human passion, mad ambition, bound me to this 

lower Earth, 
Even in my changed condition — even in my higher 

birth. 
But, by earnest, firm endeavor, I have gained a 

height sublime ; 
And I ne'er again — no, never ! — shall be hound 

to Space or Time ; 
I have conquered ! and forever ! Let the bells in 

triumph chime ! 
" Come up higher ! " cry the angels : " come up to 

the Royal Arch ! 
Come and join the Past Grand Masters, in the 

Soul's progressive march, 
O, thou neophyte of Wisdom ! Come up to the 

Royal Arch ! " 



FAREWELL TO EARTH. 171 

Sons of Earth ! where'er ye dwell, 
Break Temptation's magic spell ! 
Truth is Heaven, and Falsehood, Hell ! 
Lawless Lust a demon fell ! 
Sons of Earth ! where'er ye dwell, — 
In this Heaven, or in this Hell, — 
When ye hear the solemn swell 
Of Creation's mighty bell 
Sounding forth Time's funeral knell, 
Ye shall meet me where I dwell ; — 
Until then — Farewell ! Farewell ! 



